Can't Pretend
by LovelyFandomLover
Summary: Mistakes happen and S.H.I.E.L.D. is known for not taking them lightly. Especially if they involve crucial assets. Being one of those mistakes, Hazel Adler wants to gain the trust she lost and isn't the only one. What happens when two strangers with the same goal, are paired under false pretense? Steve/OC
1. Darkest Before Dawn

**Author's Note: Hello, everyone! Welcome to my new story. I couldn't help myself, I just love Steve Rogers, so this story will be bringing me so much joy. I hope you give it a chance and tell me what you think. Here's a few important things before the story starts:**

 **1\. Disclaimer (and I'm only going to do this once): I don't own Captain America, the Avengers, Marvel Universe, or any familiar material that you recognize. All my OC's, original dialogue and plots I do own.**

 **2\. This story is set before the Avengers film (around a few months after Steve was found) and I plan to continue on to follow the events of the said movie. I will change some things from the film to fit my story but nothing too drastic.**

 **3\. Although this story is rated T (for now, maybe I'll change it in the future), this chapter has _some_ minor graphic description ****(blood, torture). Also, the chapter is going to be short. I promise the others will be longer and won't be as graphic as this one.**

 **4\. Finally, this chapter was inspired by the song _Shake It Ou_ t by _Florence and the Machine_.**

 **That's all I have to say. Enjoy!**

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 **Prologue: Darkest Before Dawn**

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 _She never cried._

 _Even when they would peel her skin off slowly. Or hit her face with a blunt object. Or when she could feel her lungs freeze of the lack of oxygen, gasping in the cold water._ _Or when she would see her blood dripping down her body. She would push down her pain and bite her lower lip harshly, to keep herself quiet and stared ahead, her small way of defiance. It wasn't until she was alone in her cell, her safe haven, she would allow herself to show how much pain she was. And then would try to calm herself enough when they would come back and repeat the process._

 _She wasn't sure how long she had been in the suffocating room_ _―or more accurately cell_ _. A day. A week. A month. Or even a year. She can't recall the last time she had been taken out. The last time she had been dragged by these figures who shoved her into this cell. She remembered them murmuring to themselves, talking about her. They thought she didn't understand them but she did. Every word they said, she understood. A part of her wish didn't because of what she heard petrified her._

 _They were wondering if it was worth it. All the pain and torture they were putting her would be worth it. One of them said they should just kill her and end everything but the other disagreed, saying that would be a waste. And then in a cruel voice, they hoped for her to beg for death._

Don't tell them anything, under no circumstances. No matter what, don't tell them or kill yourself if you think you will break. Traitors are not tolerated because if they don't kill you, we will.

 _The ominous warning would loop around her head, a bitter reminder of her foolishness. When she had first heard the threat, she had taken it lightly, being young and naive. She was full of ambition, not thinking of the consequences, only wanting to prove that she was brave._

 _A mistake was what got her in her unfortunate situation. She would own up that i_ _t was actually a mistake on_ her _part. She had always been careful but then she had gotten cocky; a rookie mistake. She let her guard down for a fraction of a second._ _Now, she was damned and had to suffer for her mistakes. Thinking of the warning, now made her want to cry in anger. She would be crying if she wasn't dehydrated. She would be screaming if her voice wasn't hoarse._

Don't tell them. Don't tell them, _she would order herself when she faced the pain._ I can't tell them because I'm not a coward. I chose this but they never talk about this.

 _She would have killed herself already if she knew that she would break but somehow, despite the darkness, she still saw the light. It was slowly dying out and when she would not feel the flame in her, she would end it. It wasn't the cowards way out, it was the smart choice._ _But for now, she still had some fight in her, and she was going to use every ounce until her dying breath. She desperately needed to come up with a plan to save herself. Or at least buy her time. She wasn't a coward. She wasn't afraid to die, but she would admit, that in her pathetic and weak state, she couldn't handle any more pain. She was just tired._

 _She flinched at the loud noise that came from outside the walls. She could feel herself become paranoid, any second someone could come inside and do something more awful than before. The noise continued for a long time until it stopped. She tilted her head when she heard shouts in the language that her captors thought she didn't understand._

 _Her fingers dug painfully into the cold cement while her back was pressed into the equally cold and moist cemented wall. Her legs drawn up, trying to keep herself warm. She licked her chapped lips, wincing at how painful it was to simply touch them. She was an absolute mess; her clothes were dirty and ripped, her hair was matted and knotted, her skin full of sweat and bruises, and squinting in the darkness she could see dried blood on her hands and arms._

 _That wasn't the worst part. Nothing compared on how she felt. Her body felt like she was slowly dying. The cuts that she had felt like they were burning her skin. The gnawing sensation in her stomach, that was a constant reminder of her starvation. The exhaustion that she felt would take over her and paralyzed her. Every time she moved a muscle, she had to bite her lower lip to stop herself from crying out._

 _What felt for the first time in a long time, she hesitantly moved and groaned at the aching feeling that went through all over her body. She could still hear the loud noise and despite the warning signs going off in her head, she went on her knees and crawled towards the door, were the only source of light she got was from the crack of the door._

 _Lying flat on her stomach, she felt the cool, hard floor through her flimsy shirt. She peered through the crack. It was small, almost teasing her, telling her that she is so close to freedom but can't reach it. Her eyes burned at the brightness―it had been a long time since she had been out of her cell―but she remained there, trying to see at least something._

 _She could see distinct shadows moving around and strained to hear anything. She could hear muffled voices and machine noises that unnerved her. She stayed there for a long time until her cheek became numb and couldn't feel it. She scurried back to her corner, like a rat caught in a fire, when she heard loud steps going towards her direction. The noise got louder as they step got closer._

 _Like before, she had herself pressed against the wall farthest of the door and her palms were flat against the cement, trying to anchor herself. She flinched when the door slammed opened, revealing the piercing brightness, making her shield her eyes and squint to the figure in front of her. She tried to sit up but the exhaustion had taken over, making her feel like she weights a ton. It made her nervous, afraid of what was going to happen to her._

 _In broken English, a familiar harsh voice, that always made her grit her teeth in anger, spoke to her, saying the same words every time they went to fetch her._

 _"Up. Now. Let's go."_

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 **Thoughts?**


	2. Reality Check

**Thank you so much for all the support and interest that you have shown in the vague prologue. This chapter is much more different and, hopefully, interesting. I hope you like it and, as promised, this chapter is much longer. Don't forget to review, I would like to hear what you think.**

 **Oh, and Happy Earth Day!**

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 **Chapter One: Reality Check**

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A sound that sounded eerily to an explosion, was what violently jolted Hazel awake from her light sleep. Technically, she had been resting but the sound still disturbed her rest. She shot up, almost falling from where she had been laying down, her head whipping around, trying to find the source of the noise. Her body had immediately tensed and her fingers had curled around the nearest object in her perimeter; a remote control.

She heard the noise come from her left again and she cautiously turned her head slowly, somehow expecting the worst. Suddenly, she became blinded by a harsh brightness. She blinked furiously, trying to adjust her sight to the colors flashing in front of her and tried to ignore the loud noises that put her on edge.

She breathed out and relaxed her body when she saw that the television was turned on an action movie playing. She huffed in annoyance, particularly at the movie selection—she hated movies with explosions or crashing noises. There was another loud crashing noise that came from the screen, and she gripped the remote control tightly.

"Glossophobia. Acrophobia. Aviatophobia. Dentophobia. Hemophobia..." she said under her breath, trying to ease herself and after a few seconds, she could feel her heart slow down to its normal beat. She glanced at the fast paced screen and viciously turned off the television. The screen went black and she was left in the darkness, feeling more at ease.

Hazel glanced at the kitchen clock and sighed in annoyance when she saw that it was only five in the morning. It was still too early. She still had one hour to rest before she had to actually get up. She recalled all the plans she had for the day and decided to push her set time by thirty minutes; she was going to need all the energy for today.

She wasn't sure how much time passed but the entire her body remained tense while her mind was on alert, going over a to-do list had to complete before one o'clock.

"Dammit," Hazel groaned and sat up, rubbing the back of her stiff neck. "That's what I get for falling asleep on the couch."

Her apartment was pitch black, all her curtains drawn but after a few seconds adjusting to the darkness of the room. Hazel then remembered what she had been doing the previous night and leaned in to turn on the light near the couch. She looked around her small couch for her laptop. She swung her legs to the floor and groaned when she felt her feet touch something hard. She groaned and threw herself back to the couch.

She covered her face, mumbling incoherently. If she broke her laptop, she would jump of her home building. She shifted and winced, her body aching. She laid there for a while, her eyes closed and trying again to go back to sleep but after that scare, Hazel doubts she would be able to go to sleep for the next two days.

She stood up and went to the kitchen to make herself some tea, to relax. The silence in her apartment, excluding the loud noise coming from the city outside her four walls, made her turn on the television and changed the channel to watch the news. She watched mindlessly the screen, not focusing on what was going on in front of her.

All she could think was the loud noise that woke her up. She could feel goosebumps appear on her body, at the reminder. In her neighborhood, it was demanded her to grow accustomed to them in the bustling city she lived. But that noise had caught her off guard.

She bit her thumb as she stared at the screen helplessly, feeling anxious about what was going on in front of her. Instead of turning on the news, she had put on cops show instead of the news, and it seemed like they were trying to catch a kidnapper.

Her mind was so out of the zone she wasn't hearing the loud whistling coming from her kitchen. She had forgotten that she had put a kettle on the stove. She rushed to turn it off and poured herself some water in her cup.

A meowing noise coming from her window caught her attention and the corner of her lips went up when she saw a gray figure, scratching at her window impatiently. She grinned and went to her fire escape window. She opened the window and in came the plump cat, purring happily against Hazel hands.

"Hello Echo," she said in a friendly voice, happy to see her companion. She had never been an animal's person, every pet that she had owned when she was a young girl had either ran away or died. As an adult, she never had the time for taking care of a living thing besides herself. Echo had been an accident.

The cat had started appearing in her windowsill about three months ago. She had ignored it, finding the animal atrocious and the noises it made would irritate her. One night it wouldn't shut up, so she threw it some of her leftover food and it immediately shut up.

That had started a vicious cycle that she couldn't get out of it. But she had grown accustomed to the cat's presence and started allowing it to come inside, to keep her company when she would work late. She had decided to claim ownership a few weeks ago after the cat had caught the rat that had been scurrying around her apartment for a while.

"Stay right here. Don't sit on the couch," she ordered Echo.

The cat meowed and licked her paw. Hazel made a face of disgust and went to her kitchen and pulled out some food from her fridge that she knew Echo would like. For a stray, she was very picky about her food. She walked towards the window and went on her knees, making noise to gain Echo's attention.

The cat purred and walked towards her, sniffing the food and starting to eat it. Hazel smiled, feeling her mood brighten at the sight in front of her. She frowned when she noticed how plump the cat looked.

"You look fat," she observed and picked up the cat, examining her carefully. Echo hissed but calmed down when she felt Hazel stroke her. "Have you been cheating on me with other people?" she accused.

The cat simply meowed in response and she took it as a no. She walked to the kitchen and placed her on the counter as she prepared herself a quick breakfast.

"Good," Hazel nodded in satisfaction and then whispered to Echo's fur. "I don't like sharing. I'm a jealous person."

The cat struggled in her grip and Hazel realized her from her grip. The cat landed gracefully on the floor and moved around her apartment.

"Am I forgetting something?" she asked Echo, feeling like she was missing something. The cat simply blinked at her and went back to her food. She crossed the room and closed her window when she heard a beeping noise and went to pick up her phone.

"Shit. Shit. Shit," Hazel hissed when she saw what time it was. She completely lost track of time and realize she had less than ten minutes to get dressed and reach the subway if she wanted to be on time to her appointment.

Hazel ran around her apartment, looking for her purse and shoes. Then she rushed to put on her clothes, not having time to iron them. The only time she slowed down was when she was in the bathroom, fixing her hair, taking the time to make herself look presentable, not caring if her blouse and skirt were all wrinkled. When she was satisfied with her appearance, Hazel finally headed out.

When Hazel stepped out of her apartment building, she grimaced at the smog morning. Even after four years living in New York, Hazel hasn't adjusted to the loud, bustling city. Perhaps it was because she had been so using to the small, rural towns. Where instead of skyscrapers there were lush green mountains. And instead of a herd of people, there was a herd of animals.

As Hazel walked, she tried to not bump into people but it was a nearly impossible task. The sidewalk was packed with people, who like her, were in a hurry to reach their destination. Unfortunately, everybody was heading different directions, bumping and crashing into each other as the moved around. Hazel made a beeline with those who were heading toward the subway.

Hazel hated the subway. It was cramped with people, had a sour odor that reminded her of throw up, and the most important, it was underground making her claustrophobic. She would go near the trashcans, despite smelling horrible, no one would crowd around there.

"What's the word?" she said under her breath, distracting herself as she waited impatiently for the subway. "Hipp... shit, I'm in trouble."

A loud screeching noise made her hurry forward and get inside the metal tube. The subway was packed, leaving Hazel to stand and grip to one of the poles to keep her balance. The ride to her stop was fast and not wasting a second, she exited and almost ran up the stairs.

From the distance, could see her building and quickened her pace. She was lucky that this section of the city wasn't as transited like the one where she lived. When she walked into the building, she saw that she was two minutes from being late. She walked up to the front desk.

Rachel, the curly haired receptionist looked up and shot Hazel a friendly smile. "Dr. Monroe is waiting for you," she chirped, handing her the sign-in the clipboard.

"How long has she waited?" Hazel asked, her voice breathless and grabbed the clipboard.

"Not long but don't worry. I doubt she'll notice you came late," she assured her in a cheerful voice, that made Hazel stopped and take a second to assessed her.

"What's got you in a good mood?" Hazel asked.

Rachel stopped and looked at Hazel, her face forming a giddy grin. "I saw one Dr. Monroe's patients. The first one she has in the morning."

"And I'm taking it, that's a good thing," Hazel grinned and finished slid the sign-in clipboard towards her. Rachel was known to be a huge flirt with some of the male patients that came by, so hearing her swoon over a new one wasn't a strange occurrence for Hazel. She never got to meet them but she would take Rachel words for it.

"He's so hot," she gushed, taking the clipboard. "I never get to see him because I'm at the coffee room but today I got a chance to see him. He _smiled_ at me," she whispered like it was a huge secret.

Hazel inwardly rolled her eyes but smiled at her. "Wow. Next thing you know he'll be popping the question."

"I wouldn't mind it," Rachel said haughtily. "You _need_ to see him."

"Knowing my record with sleeping around, I probably already met him," Hazel said grimly, but if he was attending therapy where she went, he was probably from S.H.I.E.L.D. and she made a rule to avoid being involved with people she worked with. But again, with her terrible record, she probably accidentally did get involve with him.

Rachel shook her head, her eyes holding a knowing gleam. "No, trust me. I know for sure you haven't slept with him."

"I probably will, with my luck," she said under her breath.

Rachel simply gave her another smile and reluctantly went back to her computer screen. Hazel glanced at the clock that was at the receptionist desk and winced when she saw that she was seven minutes late. She felt a prickle of irritation for being late and turned towards the right hall. She thought about taking the stairs when the elevator wouldn't open but opted to be more patient. She didn't want to show up all flushed and sweaty to her session.

Hazel opened the door and quietly slipped into the room and sat down in her usual seat. The couch farthest from the door, where she would tuck in her feet and have a good amount of distance from her therapist. She also had a view of the city, a large glass window taking the place of a wall.

Hazel looked at her therapist expectantly, who was busy annotating notes in her notepad. She knew that she was aware of her presence but Hazel also knew that she didn't tolerate tardiness.

Dr. Monroe, a blonde woman in her mid-forties, was the first and only therapist Hazel had seen since she arrived New York, four years ago. She was a serious woman, who rarely smile and only frowned. She always observed every movement Hazel made. If she yawned, she would annotate it in her clean handwriting on her white notepad.

Hazel didn't mind Dr. Monroe. Ignoring how intimidating she was at times, she never pushed her when she didn't want talk about certain delicate topics and would listen to Hazel when she rambled on unimportant topics but at times, Hazel wished that she would give her some moral support when she was having a difficult time. The woman was professional, meaning she never got attached or sympathetic.

Hazel didn't mind therapy, it helped her cope at times. What she did mind was when it came to S.H.I.E.L.D. mandatory therapy sessions, there was no such thing as patient confidentially. Every words and movement she did in a session would be reported to them, analyzing how she did. But she would comfort herself, that at least it wouldn't leave S.H.I.E.L.D.

Those son's of bitches knew how to keep secrets. Unfortunately for them— depending the situation—Hazel was right behind them in the secrecy department.

"Do you have a word for me?" was the first thing Dr. Monroe said to Hazel when she finally stopped writing.

"Hipp...opoto...mons...troses...quipe..dalio...phobia," Hazel slowly enunciated the long, tedious word and grinned in satisfaction when she said it without any errors. "Hippopotomonstrosesquipedaliophobia," she repeated the word again in a much more rapid pace.

"And what does that mean?"

"Ironically, a fear of long words. I bet they did it to mess with them. I would have done the same thing," she said, laughing in an almost childlike wonder.

Dr. Monroe glanced at her and paused, taking in her frazzled appearance. "You look tired. Did you not get enough sleep?"

Hazel grin slipped from her face and looked down to her shoes. She ran her fingers through her hair and relaxed when she felt them slide easily through her hair. She hated it when her hair had knots. It was one of her features she put a lot of effort.

"I slept."

"That wasn't my question. My question was if you got enough sleep, Nadia?"

Hazel stared at her, feeling a strange emotion at the mention of her first name. During her sessions, it was the only time she would be called by her first name. She shouldn't feel strange because it actually her who specifically requested Dr. Monroe to call her that. Nadia.

When she first had started going to her sessions with Dr. Monroe, she had been having a hard time adjusting towards now being called Hazel instead of her given name. On her first session, Dr. Monroe asked her, what is something she wished she could have back again and without thought, Hazel said her name.

 _Nadia. I want to be Nadia again._

From that day on, Dr. Monroe would call her that and that had immensely taken some pressure from Hazel. But as years passed, Hazel felt strange sensation at being called by that name. She wanted to tell Dr. Monroe she could stop calling her that but she couldn't bring herself to it. If she stopped being called Nadia, she would just be Hazel. And that didn't sit well with her. She couldn't recall when it was the last time she heard the name coming out of this room.

"Nadia? Can you please answer my question?" Dr. Monroe asked her in a patient voice.

Hazel nodded slowly and glanced at the window, watching the other building across. "I was up late finishing these documents that are needed for tomorrow. It's part of this project, I guess that's the right term. I fell asleep on my couch and then woke up early."

"How early?"

"Six." Dr. Monroe looked unconvinced and raised one if her eyebrows. Hazel reluctantly admitted, "Five."

"What did you dream about?"

"Same. Winning the lottery and then spending it on ice cream," Hazel said, her lips curling up snidely. Dr. Monroe didn't say anything on her respond. Most therapists would be against their patients not answering honestly, but Dr. Monroe wasn't like any other therapist. Hazel had a feeling she understood her more when she was being herself.

"Why don't you take the sleeping pills I suggested?" Dr. Monroe asked.

Hazel sighed in frustration. They had been over that so many times. "You know I don't like taking medication. It makes me paranoid."

"Why does it make you paranoid?"

Hazel rolled her neck, feeling annoyed for the therapist being asked the same question each session. She looked straight into her therapist's eyes and said, "Because I think someone is always watching me." _And you probably are but you guys won't admit it. That will be violating the Privacy Act._

Dr. Monroe nodded absentmindedly and jotted down a note on her pad. "No one is watching you, Nadia."

"Of course not."

Dr. Monroe pressed her lips in a thin line, finding Hazel condensing tone troubling and jotted down something in her notepad. Her eyes lingered on Hazel for a few seconds, more specifically on her torso. Hazel stared right back at her, wondering what was going through her complex mind.

"You're wearing a short sleeve."

Hazel blinked, thrown by her comment and looked down to see her pale arms and, if she looked closely, some faint scars. She nodded and traced her fingers slightly over her forearm, eliciting goosebumps at the touch. "I was in a hurry. I grabbed the first thing that I saw."

"But you put effort on your hair," Dr. Monroe observed. "Which looks lovely by the way."

"Thank you." Hazel had made a careful braid that she turned into a side bun. She touched it lightly and the corners of her mouth twitched, feeling a strange satisfaction.

Dr. Monroe stared at her hair for a few seconds before moving on. "So I heard that you got denied again to become a field agent," Dr. Monroe said lightly, measuring her reaction.

Hazel had a hard time hiding her scowl. She was more annoyed for Dr. Monroe for bringing it up than the actual rejection. She hadn't expected for S.H.I.E.L.D. to say yes but it still stung to see the big red words across her form. She had carelessly thrown the paper to the rejection pile and spend the rest of the evening in the gym, running on the treadmill until she fell off, no longer feeling her legs.

She recalled getting help from one of the regular, who graciously took her to her apartment, her weak legs not allowing her to walk without assistance. She also remembered showing her appreciation all night long and in the morning.

"It must have bothered you," Dr. Monroe said, having seen her sour expression.

"What makes you say that?" she bristled.

"You look afflicted. It must hurt your pride."

"And why would you say that?" Hazel asked, looking at her warily. She didn't like it when Dr. Monroe spoke to her like she was a child. She was a grown woman and never gave her therapist to question her maturity. She thought she handled things appropriately.

"From being on the top of your field to be downgraded to a desk job, it would cause some people to become bitter."

"I'm not bitter," Hazel said automatically, and she wasn't lying. She knew why she wasn't no longer a field agent and accept it due to the unfortunate circumstances. But she would be lying that at times when she would be in a bad mood and stare at all the paperwork that she had to complete before the day ended, she would hate S.H.I.E.L.D. for not allowing her to go back to the action.

"Then what do you feel?"

Hazel had initially thought they had rejected her for becoming field agent again because of her lack of cooperation in her therapy sessions. She tried to be as helpful as she could but when she saw that sharing every detail in her life wasn't going to get her anywhere, she reverted back to her vague answer. They already knew every movement, why should they know what she thought too?

"I feel like this is a recycle conversation just using different word choice," Hazel said flatly, giving Dr. Monroe a tight smile. "But you do know how I feel. I know you wrote it down on one of your pads."

"Unfortunately, I don't have it with me. Can you remind me?"

Hazel clenched her jaw and gripped the armrest. She saw Dr. Monroe eyes dart towards her hands and she quickly loosened her hold. But it was too late, Dr. Monroe had jotted something down quickly.

"What happened to your knuckles?"

"Huh?"

She pointed to her red knuckles that showed fresh cuts. Hazel stared at her for a few seconds before bursting into uncontrollable giggles, making Dr. Monroe look at her questioningly.

"Is there something I'm missing? Is your injury something serious?"

"No," Hazel said, trying to muffle her laughter. She tried to sober up and then, in a more serious tone, said, "It was an accident."

"At the gym?" the therapist guessed. Usually, when Hazel came to the sessions sporting a bruise or cut, it was after an intense session of the gym. Unfortunately, for that occasion, it wasn't what happened to her.

"Sorry but no. Not that kind of accident. It was a stupid accident, really."

Hazel brushed her fingers lightly over her scratched knuckles and winced at how sensitive they still were. She had broken a glass the previous night when she had been drying off her dishes. One of the glasses had slipped from her grip when she had jumped at a loud noise. She had gone to pick up the broken glass, she accidentally cut herself. It wasn't an exciting excuse but it was embarrassing that she had gotten scared by the loud noise the microwave had made, alerting her that her tea was ready.

"Do I wanna know?" she questioned.

"For my pride, no."

Dr. Monroe tilted her head to the side, observing her, and when she was satisfied with what she saw, nodded.

"I feel bored. Tired. Everything is the same," Hazel said after a few seconds of silence.

"What?" Dr. Monroe blinked, confused at her words.

"How I feel?" she reminded her. "At times, I can't tell the days apart because they are so similar. I feel like I'm wasting my youth. Five years of my life have gone and I'm never going to get them back, and yeah, that sounds dramatic but if you think about what I did those years prior, it's sad."

"You did a lot when you were younger."

"True," Hazel agreed, recalling the adrenaline she used to feel. There was a time, she remembered, that she needed to feel alive. And nowadays, she felt nothing. "But now the most exciting thing I have done is fix the printer by hitting it a few times and to find out that it was just a paper jam."

Dr. Monroe hummed, the closest she would come to acknowledge that she was amused. "Is that the only thing bothering you. Is there anything else?"

Hazel recognized her intentions immediately. She saw through her clever tactic at managing to slip in her question into the conversation. She paused and tilted her head, observing Dr. Monroe new body posture. For the first time in the session, Hazel could see her therapist slightly leaning forward, her eyes trained on her and her fingers curled around her pen. If Hazel looked more closely, she could see from behind her glasses, that Dr. Monroe looked almost anxious.

Dr. Monroe always became like that when she asked her that question. It was a subtle way of asking Hazel if she wanted to say something that she had never said before. After all, that was the point of their sessions. To make her open up about her feelings and her dirty little secrets that she refused to spill, much to S.H.I.E.L.D. frustration.

"Nope." She shook her head but then perked up, remembering her exciting morning. "Hold on, I actually do."

Dr. Monroe looked at her carefully, finding her reaction strange. "What is it?"

"I got a new cat," she announced proudly, perking up. She now wished she had a picture of Echo on her phone.

Dr. Monroe leaned back to the sofa, her expression becoming somber, clearly disappointed and looked at her critically. "You bought a cat?"

"No," Hazel snorted. "I'm not wasting my money on a cat. I don't like them."

"Then how did you get the cat?" Dr. Monroe asked slowly, confused.

"It's this stray that keeps showing up to my apartment window so I decided to adopt it. I named her Echo," she stated proudly, clasping her hands together.

"Echo? Why that name?"

"It's after this Greek mythology," she explained. "It's one of my favorites."

Dr. Monroe looked interested and glanced at her phone, to check the time. "I would really love to hear the story in our next session."

Hazel nodded in understanding and stood up, smoothing out her skirt that was still wrinkly. "Sure. I think you might like it. It's morbid."

Dr. Monroe looked at her and nodded. "I'm sure it is."

Hazel walked in front of her and got the slip of paper Dr. Monroe had out towards her. She squinted at the loopy words and could make out a few words. She looked at Dr. Monroe briefly before heading out towards the door.

"Nadia..."

She stopped and looked over her shoulder. "Yeah?"

"How do you feel?" Dr. Monroe asked her. As usual, her voice was void of emotion, hinting nothing.

Hazel furrowed her brows, confused at the question, but tried to answer the question honestly. How did she feel? Besides being slightly agitated in the morning at her apartment and irritated that she came late but she was appeased, fine. It was rare nowadays for her to get agitated unless something big happened, which was almost never. Her life was a repetitive mundane cycle.

"I feel... fine. Yeah, I'm fine." She nodded in confidence. "Absolutely fine."

Dr. Monroe stared at her and then, to Hazel bafflement, gave her a small smile. "That's good to know. Goodbye, Nadia."

Dr. Monroe immediately turned her attention back to her notepad, scribbling quickly and didn't seem to notice Hazel staring at her in confusion. Slowly, she exited the room and walked down the hallway towards the stairs. That time, she decided to take the stairs, feeling a surge of energy. She almost flew down the stairs and her energy increased at every step she took.

Reaching the lobby, she breathed heavily but still felt with an abundant amount of energy. Making a rash decision, she decided to walk from the building where her therapy was held to where she worked. It wasn't a long walk but she would end up late to her work.

Hazel felt a cool breeze hit her when a bus passed her and she rubbed her arms and then remembered that she was wearing short sleeves. She stopped and stared at her arms. Suddenly, she understood why Dr. Monroe had stared at her questioningly when she saw her. Hazel always wore long sleeves, even when it was in a middle of a heat wave. She always avoided showing her arms. It made her feel exposed when they were bare and the sensation would make her scratch her arm until it was red and raw.

Hazel was thrown off when she didn't feel anything and decided to ignore her confusion and picked up her pace, and reached her office building quickly. When she stepped inside the building, she felt flushed and was a comfort that at least her hair was still intact. Hazel took off her coat and put on the rack and rushed to her desk.

"You're late," sang Julia, one of her co-workers and,and if she were honest, her only friend. Her desk was positioned right in front her, which allowed her to harass Hazel whenever she wanted.

"Shut up," she snapped in mild irritation and sat down. She looked around her cluttered desk, trying to look organize herself. She shoved some papers to the side and then went to her bag to retrieve her reading glasses.

"Why are you late? Didn't your session with Monroe like an hour ago?"

Hazel ignored her and turned on her computer, going straight to work. Julia knew she didn't like to socialize while she was in the office. She liked to keep to herself, and because of that outcome, she didn't have many friends. She had drinking buddies but it never went beyond that. Julia was the exception, she had grown on her like moss. Impossible to get rid of once it sticks.

"What happened to your knuckles?" Julia leaned over and tapped one of them. Hazel hissed at the touch and drew her hand away from the other woman, shooting her a glare.

"Julia. Let me work," she said impatiently. "I'm late and I really need to catch up before someone notices that I haven't done shit."

"Too late," Julia smirked. "Coulson came by a few minutes before you came and asked about you. I said you were in the bathroom but I don't think he believed me."

"What?" Hazel choked. "Coulson is back? Why the fuck didn't you tell me that sooner? Like yesterday? Or texted me in the morning? What did he say?"

"Hazel, calm down. Breath or do that weird thing you do whenever you're freaking out. Coulson came yesterday in the afternoon, I think. He's been running around the office, ordering people, demanding papers for these missions. He wants to talk to you."

Hazel nodded distractedly, already knowing what he wanted. She only went to his office once a month for inspections or check-ins as he liked to call them. She should have known that would happen to her. Hazel closed her eyes, trying to keep herself from screaming in frustration. If Coulson was back, he was definitely going to yell at her later on.

"So what happened to your knuckles?" Julia asked again and peered over to her side and grimaced when she say that one of them had started bleeding.

"I got into a fight," Hazel said flatly.

"Really? With who? Was it with Smith again?" she asked eagerly.

Hazel shot her a mirthful smile. "That's none of your fucking business."

Julia laughed and shook her head fondly. "Fine Hazel. I'll leave you alone _but_ not until you promise that you'll join me for some drinks tomorrow."

Hazel sighed and looked at Julia wryly. She wanted to say no but the prospect of alcohol made her reconsider her rejection. "Tomorrow? Why not today?"

"I can't today because I have to finish this stupid file for this stupid project happening soon. Also because my girlfriend and her cousin can come tomorrow."

"You better not be setting me up," Hazel warned. "I will not hesitate to punch you and the guy."

Julia loved setting people up and, for the misfortune of her, Hazel had become her newest conquest. She thought Hazel was lonely and needed the companion of people. Hazel disagreed vehemently but the more she argued the more determined the woman became.

 _We need to cure your lonely soul_ , Julia practically sang, making Hazel grumble about her not caring about her lonely soul and regretting showing Julia her favorite musical.

"Not this time. Don't worry. He's just visiting her for a while, so no relationship," Julia assured her but Hazel still looked at her skeptically. "So, are you coming? Free drinks, a for sure one night stand and have some fun?"

Hazel hummed thoughtfully, the offer incredibly tempting. "Is he hot?"

"He's attractive but not too bright," Julia admitted. "I know you like them at least average smart."

"I'm smarter than all men," Hazel dismissed her but it did make her pause. "Is him being drunk going to impair his ability?" she questioned.

Julia gave her a lascivious grin. "I hear it makes him quite the athlete if you know what I mean."

"No I do not," she said seriously.

"So? Are you coming?"

Hazel drummed her fingers against her desk, thinking about it and without giving her a reply, turned around and going back to her computer screen.

"Yes," she heard Julia cheer, pleased with herself. As promised, she left her alone.

For an hour straight, Hazel typed fast, working hard. The screen was bright making her eyes water and despite her efforts tried to ignore the sting of tears building. After finishing her last sentence of a report, she stopped typing and took off her glasses. She sighed in relief and rested her head on her desk. From her awkward position, she could see the clock, taunting her, telling her that she still wasn't done suffering for the day.

Hazel recalled her conversation with Dr. Monroe, about how unhappy she seemed with her life. And she agreed with her, she couldn't believe this was her life. Sitting down at a desk, typing nonsense about agents missions, setting up a meeting for those said agents, debriefing, and other boring desk work. She wasn't used to a boring routine, even though it had been years.

"Summers."

She heard her last name being called but ignored it, knowing that Julia just wanted to annoy her but found it strange that she had called her by her last name. She stayed there, feeling her body loosen up for the first time in the morning but didn't get a chance to completely relax.

"Hazel," she heard Julia hiss and that's when the alarms started ringing inside her head. _No... Shit. Shit. Shit._

Her eyes flew open and she inhaled sharply when she looked up to see Agent Phil Coulson standing in front of her desk, wearing his permanent serious expression.

"Agent Coulson," Hazel greeted. She hoped that she didn't look like she was ready to burst into uncontrollable sobs any moment. From behind Coulson, she saw Julia give her thumbs, a sign that she at least was composed. "What do I owe the pleasure?"

"In my office in two," he said curtly and walked away from her. Hazel rubbed her face and glanced Hazel glanced at Julia who gave her a sympathetic smile.

"Holy shit," Julia said, her eyes widening and made a silent squealing noise. "That was... intense. Good luck."

"Crap," she grumbled and opened her right drawer on the top, pulling out her file and then got up from her desk. She smoothed her still wrinkly skirt and walked confidently to Agent Coulson's office. Knocking the door, she waited for the voice to let her get in. Coulson stared at her evenly, as took a seat on a chair that was in front of his desk

"Agent Coulson," she greeted, immediately handing him her folder, and tucked her hands in front of her lap. She wanted to get the meeting over.

Agent Coulson was at most the highest ranking member of the entire building. His power came from being Director Nick Fury's right-hand man and being one of the S.H.I.E.L.D. best operatives. He a serious man who took his job seriously and expected everybody else to do the same thing. Because of his dedication to the organization, Coulson was a man with different jobs, and one of them happened to be is to supervise Hazel and have monthly check-ins with her.

He had many important things to do and to have one simple job that involved checking if Hazel showed up to work, was to cause alarm. But Hazel would do what everyone else did. Pretend they didn't know anything and do what they're told to do.

Despite their rocky relationship, Hazel had come to admire the man. He always worked hard and never disappointed. It was a shame under the circumstances they met but he was nice enough to not let their relationship be hostile.

"Ms. Summers, it's been a while. You look lovely, especially with your hairstyle." Coulson smiled slightly, trying to keep things casual.

"Thank you. Nice tie." She nodded approvingly to his navy blue tie with thin light blue lines across. "How was New Mexico? I heard the weather was unusual."

Their monthly meetings had been delayed for almost two months because Coulson had been sent down in Puente Antiguo, New Mexico to work on a classified mission. It involved with investigation an incident that happened around one of S.H.I.E.L.D. sites where they were doing tactical operations.

The only reason Hazel knew all that information was because the last meeting she had with Coulson, he had left her alone in his office for a few minutes. It wasn't her fault, the file about his next mission happened to be within her reach. She had started reading about a small town being destroyed by an unknown being when she heard Coulson approaching and was forced to put it back into its place.

She wondered what had happened? No matter how much she searched the internet, there was no mention of an incident in New Mexico.

"Ms. Summers, you're walking on thin ice," Coulson warned lightly.

"Well, a traitor is always on thin ice Agent Coulson," Hazel replied, giving him a saccharine smile.

Coulson ignored her last comment and went straight to her file, skimming her time schedule. She saw him pause and frown at something he read.

"Is there a problem?"

"I see that you missed one day of work and came late twice," he noted, his pen tapping on the dates. "Both on Mondays. Why's that?"

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Whenever she did something, even tiny, out of her usual routine, Coulson would be in her case. "I had a stomach bug and couldn't stop throwing up," she explained patiently. "And coming late, well, you know traffic. It's worse on Monday's than any other day."

"You came late today," he pointed out and handed her file to her. "It's not Monday."

"I have therapy on Wednesday's. I always come late. I even have the slip."

Coulson stared at her and handed her back her file. "Well, besides those few errors, everything seems to be without order. You can go back to your work," Coulson dismissed her, not looking up from his paperwork. Hazel stood up, grateful to leave his presence, and was about to leave his office but paused, the question she had been wanting to ask him since she sat down nagging.

"Agent Coulson?"

"Yes?" He looked up and gave her an expectant look.

"I'm almost finished with the assignment that you gave me, for the mission that Agent Smith will do in the following month. Meaning I will have to start the one that you told me to do last month but I was wondering if I could do something different that normal."

Her voice didn't waver but she tried to keep it quiet. It wasn't the first time she requested for a different assignment. She always got rejected by Coulson, saying she already had assignments to complete and didn't have the time for new ones.

But that day Coulson stared at her. He glanced at his computer screen and furrowed his brows, looking conflicted. She could tell he wanted to say no, his usual go-to answer, but something was stopping him from saying it.

"When you finish, then we'll talk," he said finally. "Now go."

Hazel wanted to argue but kept her mouth shut and reluctantly left his office, confused by his strange demeanor. She plopped down in her chair and moved around, staring intently at the clock. Hazel remembered reading one of her psychology textbooks that talked about how someone who convinces themselves to believe their lies will actually believe them that even in lie detectors won't be able to see that they were lies.

 _I'm lying all the time,_ she thought bitterly. She shook her head and then a loose strand fell on her face. She stared at it, feeling her blood boil. She looked down and saw her hands clenched into fists, her knuckles white.

 _It's just your hair, let it go. Just stop,_ she ordered herself. _It's just your hair._

She would not be that person who would lose it for one small detail. But it wasn't a small detail. It was her hair, the most important part of her body that she never let get out of order. If one hair got out of its place, she would lose it.

After a few seconds of glaring, she got fed up and opened her drawer harshly, fishing out a rubber band and put it on her wrist and abruptly stood up, startling Julia.

"Are you alright Hazel?" Julia asked, looking concerned. It wasn't unusual for Hazel to come back all agitated from her monthly meetings with Coulson.

"Fine, just have to pee," she dismissed her and stalked to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. She gripped the sink and stared at her reflection. Her cheeks were blotching and she made a face when she saw the loose strand of hair.

"Arachnophobia. Cynophobia. Ophidiophobia. Nyctophobia..." she muttered and started unbraiding her hair. Her red hair fell in loose waves, and she started pulling it and making it into a loose braid that she put to the side. She cocked her head and touched the mirror, and flinched when she felt how cool it was.

There was a time when she looked at her reflection and wouldn't recognize the person that stood in front of her. With her free hand, she touched her hair gently, feeling a wave of content was over her.

"Thanatophobia," she murmured the last one. "Thank fucking God."

She drew her hand down to her side and giving herself an appraising look, she felt much better, she turned around and exited the bathroom, ready to go back to her mundane work.


	3. Two Birds Situation

**This was a long time to update this story, which I didn't want to happen but life happens. But I hope there is still some interest in this story. Hopefully, the next chapter is updated sooner.**

 **Hope you enjoy it and tell me what you think :)**

* * *

 **Chapter Two: Two Birds Situation**

* * *

 _Screech_.

Dr. Fallon Monroe winced and threw Agent Phil Coulson a dirty look as he dragged the heavy chair that made the obnoxious, scraping noise against the aluminum floor. He glanced at her and his lips almost curled up into a satisfactory smile when she saw her withered look.

It was moments like this made Monroe wonder of her life choices, especially her current ones. Even after six years of working for S.H.I.E.L.D., Monroe still couldn't understand how she ended up working for the organization.

Monroe hadn't been on the top of her class in college but she hadn't been in the lowest. She was in between, which didn't satisfy her. What she didn't have academically, she made up with the determination and ambition that the other students didn't have. She had worked hard all her life, having made sure to plan every detail of every second in her life, to achieve all get goals.

Never stray from the plan or else everything she had sacrificed—her friends, family, relationships, at times health—would be worth for nothing.

Some might call it an obsession for perfection that would never happen, but she preferred the term driven ambition. Not wasting a second after graduating, Monroe continued her education, nonstop working until she earned her Ph.D. Her thesis—PTSD is the key to destroying humanity—that her professors criticized, finding it delusional but at the most of her research, had caught the unwanted attention of a certain organization.

Originally, Monroe never wanted to work for S.H.I.E.L.D. The idea of being bound to an organization that kept everything under wraps and had strict regulations for its employees made her refuse their offer the first time. Unfortunately, that is when she had first met Coulson and he had made the point to continue showing up in her life.

He had been insistent and on the fourth time, he made an argument that compelled her when Monroe saw with who she would be working with. Ex-field agents with a variety range of issue that she could only dream up and they would show up at her threshold.

Severe PTSD, anger issues, bipolar disorder, depression, anxiety, bulimia. It seemed that all agents had one of the over the hundreds of classified mental disorders.

But as much as she loved that part of her job (helping them cope with their issues that imposed them), it annoyed how S.H.I.E.L.D. would interfere with some of her patients.

Last week, she got into a heated argument with Agent Coulson who was in charge of Agent Sarah Michael's, one of her patients that had gone through physical trauma after an explosion went off on a mission. They wanted to bring her back to the field sooner than expected and she had objected, saying that she was nowhere ready, as she was clearly affected by it.

Monroe would defend her patients until her dying breath. Despite the contrary belief, but she cared deeply about each and one of her patients. She had come to discover, to get a better overall view is better to keep them arm's length than to become close and personal with them apart. Which made her seem standoffish and

After all, it wasn't the first time she had made an appeal for one of the decisions made towards her patients. But it had been the first one that she had made that she had to speak to the director of S.H.I.E.L.D. Which didn't sit well with her.

Which explained her current situation; sitting in front of the director of S.H.I.E.L.D., unsure what to expect. She hadn't spent enough time with him in her six years in S.H.I.E.L.D. to be able to psychoanalyze him. Which made her suspect that was one of the reasons.

He sat at his desk, tapping on his desk which showed he either was anxious or bored, but no made no movement to start their meeting. Taking one for the team, Monroe cleared her throat.

"Director Fury, should we start? I know you're a busy man and you should know that the same goes for me."

"Of course. I saw that you sent an appeal for denying former Agent Adler. Or Summers. I'm not sure what she goes by now."

"It's Summer's, not Adler. Not anymore," she said flatly, unable to hide how annoyed she felt. "You were, after all, the one who made her change her name. For safety, that's what you claimed."

"Did I?" Fury said. "Then tell me, did you send for an appeal for Agent Summers?"

"Yes, I did." She wiped away a small speck of dust from her skirt and gave him a pleasant smile. If Monroe was honest to herself, she wasn't fond of the man. She disagreed with various of his manipulative methods and had cried in outrage when he had demanded her to send her notes from her session from Hazel Summers. Initially, Fury had wanted to put cameras to record their sessions but she had fought with him until they found a compromise. He would see her detailed notes from their sessions.

"May I ask why?" Furry asked mockingly, making her narrow her eyes.

"I think you should rethink your decision, that's all."

"And again, why?"

"Because Hazel is in a much better state than she was before." If Monroe would put the Hazel she had met five years ago to the one she had right now, it would be hard to find the difference but for her was as clear as night and day.

"How much is before?" Furry asked warily.

"You said that she still has post-traumatic stress disorder," Agent Coulson cut in, making his presence known.

Monroe bit back a sigh of exasperation. As much as she disliked the director, she found his right-hand man even more exasperating. He always stood between her and her decisions regarding Hazel Summers. They never saw eye to eye and she only tolerated him because of Hazel fondness of the man. Hazel saw him in a light that she could never.

"First of all, Mr. Coulson, you are here to observe, not weigh in," she reminded him, coolly.

"I supervise her, making her _my_ responsibility," he reminded her stiffly and, in her opinion, smugly added, "And I'm also in a higher position than you so I do get to weigh in."

Monroe glared at him and turned to Fury. "Director, can you tell him to stay out of this? This was, initially, between the two of us until he had to show up."

Fury sighed in aggravation, rubbing his face in frustration. "Quit wasting my time, both of you. Dr. Monroe, you only have an hour make your argument. Meaning, Coulson, let Monroe speak."

His right-hand man clenched his jaw, clearly annoyed but kept his mouth shut.

Monroe started again, "And second of all, no. I clearly said she had signs of PTSD which could evolve into PTSD. And before you start your 'Isn't that the same? She isn't in top shape. She hasn't been a field agent in almost six years' crap. Yes, Coulson, I know you too damn well."

She saw the expression he had made when she spoke. Monroe noticed the warning glare their director was giving her and she cleared her throat, deciding now wasn't time to be petty.

"And to answer your questions. Physically? She's as perfect as any other agent can be. Almost like six years haven't passed since her removal of the field."

"What about the other areas? Your specialty," Fury wanted to know.

"You mean her mentality?" Monroe gave him a tight smile. "Well, you can try to smooth out a wrinkled paper but in the end, there's still going to have its rough edges. But that doesn't mean it's not good enough. No one is perfect, Director. Even with one functioning eye and you still run S.H.I.E.L.D. smoothly."

Fury merely raised his eyebrow at, not commenting.

"That's a lovely metaphor but what showed _you_ she is better?" Coulson interrupted again. Monroe sighed in aggravation. Why did they always question her? When had she ever been wrong? Why couldn't trust her?

"Sometimes it's the fine details that show how we've grown as persons." If Monroe could show how Hazel had been in the beginning of their sessions. Shaky hands, withdrawn from the conversation, and her haunted eyes. None of that was a shadow of the sarcastic, eye rolled woman who would sit in front of her every Tuesday morning. No one could see it because they didn't take the time to notice Hazel and how much she has changed.

"She was wearing a short sleeve shirt the last time I saw her," she said and immediately regret it. She should have said a better example. She could already hear Coulson snide voice.

"And Hazel Summers wearing short sleeves shows that she is now capable of going back out there?" Coulson asked skeptically.

"Of course not," she said briskly. "Don't be ridiculous Agent Coulson. If you have been reading my notes, you would know that Hazel has developed these particular habits that trigger certain memories which makes her, well, freak out. One of them is exposing her arms, that were all scratched and bloodied when she was found. Do you remember, Coulson?"

"Yes, I remember. I've seen the pictures many times," Coulson said quietly and for the first time, he showed his concern over Hazel. She almost decided to go easy on him. _Almost_.

"Hazel is ready enough to do certain assignments. I'm not asking her to put her in the middle of a war zone but get her out."

"Are we forgetting the first place we removed her from the field was not because she was incompatible but because she failed to—"

"Mr. Coulson," Monroe interrupted sharply, her small sympathy for him gone. "Is that your only argument? Her failure of five years ago? Are you that close-minded you keep repeating the same excuse every time we discuss Hazel Summers."

"Summers is an important asset," Coulson stressed. "We don't keep an eye on her for nothing. Assets must be contained."

Monroe frowned in disapproval, hating how they were downgrading Hazel into a property.

"Is there something you want to say, Dr. Monroe?" Fury asked, noticing her.

"Assets are properties and she's a human being. Her name is Hazel."

"Of course not. But she is one," Fury reminded her. "We don't keep on her for nothing."

"Hazel's more than an asset," Monroe said sourly. "She was a very good agent. And still, could be one."

"There's an if isn't there?" Coulson said, sharing a wry glance with Fury.

"If you stop treating her like she was the enemy," she snapped, feeling fed up that both of them were going against her again. It wasn't something she wasn't used to but at times her patience ran thin. Fury was supposed to be neutral and Coulson had to think what was best for Hazel.

"In a way she is. She refuses to abide—"

"Mr. Coulson, I have the choice to pick if she's capable of going back to the field, that's my job, and I've decided that she's more than capable of being a field agent. Always has been, she's just being held down like a dog on a leash by her patronizing owners who won't let her out of their sight."

"You don't have any respect for authority, do you?" asked Coulson sourly.

She smiled spitefully at him. "Not to you, Mr. Coulson."

He was going to retaliate but a look from their director, made him pressed his mouth into a thin line and scowled at her, Monroe pointedly ignored him and looked at Furry expectantly.

"Dr. Monroe—" he started but got cut off by her.

"Before you say no, you can listen to my argument and then you can make your final decision."

Fury stared at her, and after a few seconds, he nodded, allowing her to take charge.

"Yes Hazel doesn't like speaking at all what happened during her time she was captured but if she doesn't want to speak then let her. Pressuring her isn't going to make her open up, I've told you multiple times for the past five years. That's not how humans work." When she saw Coulson looked at her dubiously, she asked, "If I ask you why you have an uncanny obsession with Captain America, would you tell me?"

Coulson gave her a glare and said stiffly, "We're getting out of topic. This is about Summers and her progress."

"Exactly. The whole meeting has been about her and how she's progressed, making her fit. It should have gone this far to have the director involved. You and I could have additional it in my office but no. You just had to deny the whole thing," she said bitterly.

"Dr. Monroe, now that I am involved let's stick to Summers and not your fighting with Coulson do that another time," Fury said, a warning tone that made both of the adults being spoken to look at him grimly. "Isn't the whole point of therapy supposed to help her heal and if she hasn't opened up, it's not helping her?"

"If you're basing your opinions on her lack of information, then Director, you are making a poor judgment."

"Are you questioning my decision?" Fury inquired, his good eye narrowing dangerously.

"I did send for a repeal, didn't I?"

Furry didn't look pleased but didn't object when she continued her argument.

"Hazel has no problem with fighting. She's been training daily, goes to her mandatory physical—"

"She assaulted an Agent in the office, Director Fury. Broke their arm and nose," Coulson interjected.

"That was a year ago, it's been cleared. By _you_ , may I add or you don't even read what you sign?" she snapped. "And I saw how she did with gun practice, getting a perfect score. She is capable of fighting and defending herself. And psychologically, she's in a stable place."

"As I have said previously in my documents, Hazel has OCD. The compulsive kind where she has to do things in a certain order or else it would set her off. Over the years she's been improving."

"How has OCD affected her being on the field?" asked Fury in a monotone.

Coulson stepped in. "After she recovered for almost seven months, she went back to her first mission, she had an incident that led her to be considered unfit to be a field agent."

"Didn't she have a psych evaluation?" Fury asked. "Every agent is required to have one after going through trauma."

"She did." _I didn't take perform that evaluation, in case you wondering,_ Monroe added internally. Her fingers grazed over Hazel's file, everything memorized. "And barely passed but she passed. But then being on the field set off everything she had been hiding and brought her back ten steps backs. But that doesn't mean that can happen again. She's improved."

"Like you said, fine details," Furry said, nodding thoughtfully, his fingers drumming on his desk.

"Exactly. Hazel is ready," she said in a manner she would speak to a patient that was having a panic attack, to Coulson, who was looking at the two of them uneasily.

"If you say so," Coulson muttered.

"Director," she said, in the most gentle voice a person like her could muster. "Hazel will never go back to the Agent she was years ago. But she will prosper, maybe become a better one. We've seen Agents out there be in worse situations than her and look at them. Imagine Hazel."

There was a second of silence, the words of Monroe sinking in.

"Dr. Monroe," Fury finally spoke up. "Thank you for your appeal, I'll make sure for Coulson to look into the new decision. And if again, you're unsatisfied then we can do this again."

Monroe nodded, feeling a deep satisfaction. Fury cleared his throat to get her attention and stood up from his desk, going to stand between Monroe and Coulson.

"Now that we're done with that portion of the meeting, I didn't just call you here for Summers, I mean Hazel," he corrected himself when he saw her expression. "I want to know about your other patient."

"You'll have to be more specific. I have many patients," she said coolly but she knew who he was talking about. It was the one who he kept pestering her about every day.

"You're newest one."

"Steve Rogers," Coulson added unnecessarily. For the first time of the meeting, he wasn't looking at her in contempt but with eagerness. "Captain America."

"Right, Mr. Rogers," Monroe said flatly.

Fury sighed in annoyance. "Now that we've made it clear who we're talking about, what do you got on Rogers?"

Monroe pursed her lips and pulled out his file from her purse begrudgingly. She flipped it open and scanned quickly her newest notes from their last sessions. Which had been the previous day. He had been the same; courteous, quiet and ill-tempered.

As respectful as the infamous Steve Rogers was, he was still a man with a certain mindset where talking about their emotions was a sign of weakness and being forced to talk about them, especially to a woman, would make him uncomfortable. Which explained why he wasn't willing to open up.

"Mr. Rogers currently stands in a very delicate situation," she told them.

"What is that suppose to mean?" Coulson asked sharply. Monroe inwardly rolled her eyes. Coulson had tried his best to become involved with Captain America but hadn't succeeded. Monroe knew that was another reason why Coulson disliked her. She was working close with the great Captain while he stood on the sidelines.

"Mr. Coulson, have you met someone that was from the 1940's who was in a very horrible war and had been frozen for over sixty years? And then was unfrozen to be thrust into the world that has a technology you had never imagine with everyone you knew was either dead or very old and is going through different types of mental illness?"

Both Fury and Coulson stared at her, not sure what to say.

"He's adjusting quite well," she added.

"And what is well?" Fury asked, concerned how his newest—and most valuable—asset was doing. But it was for a beneficial gain than genuine concerned over the young soldier, which frustrated Monroe. No wonder Steve was going through such a hard time, no one seemed to care about him on a personal level.

"He's understanding the new technology very quickly and has been reading on our history books to catch up."

"But..."

"It's not enough. He's frustrated and lonely. He is showing signs of depression; doesn't like to spend time with people, loss of appetite, trouble sleeping and although he hides it well, gets irritable easily." She paused and against her professional judgment, added, "And I don't want to come to rash conclusions, but I'm about ninety percent sure he has PTSD. And I know that you don't want that for him if you want him part of that initiative."

Coulson glared at her, hearing the sourness in her tone.

"Then what do you suggest we do?" Fury asked, ignoring her tone. "Or more specifically, you?"

Monroe smiled and felt a comfort that Fury was looking for her for help. And fortunately for him, she had a solution that would benefit him and her patients.

"Director Fury, what I have for you is a kill two birds with one stone situation."

"Doubt it," Coulson said in a low voice that was only meant for her. She made a point to ignore him, knowing she would be the one to have the last laugh in the end.

"What is it, Monroe?" Fury said, his eye holding interest.

"Before I indulge you, have either of you read the newest research done about people who suffer mental illness state can improve with the moral support of people?"

Coulson eye roll made Monroe have to bite the inside her cheek to stop herself from smiling as she continued.

* * *

Even after Nick Fury had made it clear the meeting would be an hour long, it had extended to three hours with the three of them arguing. Or more accurately Monroe and Coulson snapping at each other every second and Fury telling them to shut up.

But in the end, they had come up with a compromise that pleased Monroe immensely. Mostly because Coulson came with the shorthand but also because it benefited two of her patients.

"Have a wonderful day, Mr. Coulson," Monroe smiled at him when they were outside of Fury's office.

"I guess I'll see you soon, Dr. Monroe" he bit out, emphasizing on her title to make a point that he remembered her given title, unlike her. She ignored him and nodded, remembering another meeting that was scheduled in the next two days.

"I guess we will."

Giving him another triumph smile, she turned around and headed to her office, already going over the patients that she would see for the rest of the day. She hoped everything worked out in the end.

* * *

Hazel glared at the screen and closed the window, rubbing her eyes. She could feel her exhaustion taking over again. Like the previous night, she had gotten barely a few hours of sleep and had woken up earlier than usual. She took the opportunity to make herself a proper breakfast and to try out a new hairstyle she had seen on the television.

"Hazel..." Julia's voice broke her concentration.

"Hmm?" she hummed in acknowledgment, not looking at her screen. She frowned when she saw an error in a report.

"Are you still going to get a drink with me tonight?"

"Yeah, I'm still going. I always say yes to alcohol."

"Of course you would."

She closed her eyes for a second. When she opened them and looked up at her computer screen, Julia was right in front of her desk.

"Dammit, Julia. I said I would go. Get away from me."

Julia smirked. "I'm just making sure. You seem distracted and I thought it would be nice of me to remind you."

Hazel rolled her eyes and stretched her body, wincing at how stiff her bones were. She glanced at the clock and saw that she was done for the day. Sighing in content, she pushed stood up.

"I'm leaving," she announced and started picking up her things. "I'll see you in a few hours."

Julia nodded and went back to her desk, still having an hour left. "You heading to the gym?"

"Always." She shot her a small grin and slipped away from their corner, more than ready to breathe different air, even if it was sweat. She could almost feel herself growing lighter every step she took further from her office desk.

An hour later and Hazel didn't feel the same lightness as before. Instead, she felt like she was being dragged down by bricks.

"Shit," Hazel hissed when she felt a cramp on her stomach and tried to ignore it. She must be getting sick or be on her period soon. She never got cramps. "Shit, fuck. Fuck S.H.I.E.L.D. and their fucking regulations. Oh, fuck."

Not only did Hazel have to go to weekly mandatory therapy, she was also ordered to work out of the gym. It was another organic way to express herself, or so that's what Dr. Monroe explained patiently when she saw the look of disgust on Hazel.

She didn't complain when she found out. After all, it was her own damn fault for being temperamental.

She could have avoided having PE like a high schooler, but being cooped up in an office desk when she had been used to be moving around, it had made her lose her thin patience and lash out violently to one of her coworkers. Leading her to be sent to therapy twice a week instead of one and to be currently cramping on a machine.

Hazel shouldn't be complaining, S.H.I.E.L.D. had a nice gym. Air conditioning and the machines were clean daily, so she was safe from getting any diseases. And the gym was never crowded, which helped her concentrate. But that didn't mean she liked it. She tried to make the best of it, going when there weren't any agents stinking up the place with their sweat and whatever lotions the put on their body.

She hated running on the treadmills. Running in the same place in confined places made her get bored easily. But she didn't complain, she actually liked to run. She wanted to run outside, with the sun shining on her and not having to be surrounded by machines. She tried to run in the central park but got distracted with the buildings and the obnoxious noises the cars and bus made.

She had only been there for twenty minutes, fifteen spent stretching and the other jogging slowly on a treadmill when her routine was interrupted.

"Damn, Summer. Thought you worked out?" a deep voice said from behind, amused. Hazel rolled her eyes and continued running, not acknowledge them until she saw their shadow next to her. "How's it going?"

"Hello, Smith," she said coolly and tried to ignore him but his presence was distracting her, something he was well aware.

"Right back at you, Summers." He grinned at her and hopped onto the treadmill next to her. She sighed and pushed a strand of her damp hair from her forehead. Apparently, he took politeness as an invitation to stay.

"Go away."

"Hey, I'm here to exercise, just like everybody else in this gym. This body doesn't just happen like magic, so I can't go away. So what's up, Summers?"

Hazel didn't like listening to music when she ran. The only noise she needed was her breathing. And hearing Smiths' voice was throwing her off her routine. She knew that if she ignored him he would still persist until she caved but if she talked to him, he still wouldn't leave.

"Someone's in a bad mood, but it's fine. I can do all the talking, I have a nicer voice than yours." She shot him an aggravated look but he laughed. "I'm trying to have a conversation with you."

"And I'm trying to ignore you."

"Come on. Don't be like that."

She made a face. Why did guys always have to say that? Yes, she did have to be like that because she didn't want him around her.

"Come on, Summers. Don't be bitter. I'm just trying to lighten the mood."

Hazel grunted, being her only response, and pushed her damp hair from her sweaty forehead.

"Summers..."

"Smith," she snapped, fed up with him. "I'm just trying to exercise so I can meet my quota, so shut up and let me do that."

"Right, after like, what, four years, you still have to complete a freaking quota? Sucks, seriously." Thankfully after that, he fell quiet, which appeased her mind and decided to speed up her pace, his presence giving her energy to hurry up and leave the suffocating place.

"Heard you got a hot date," he said after minutes of silence. That got her attention, making her slow down her pace until she went to a complete stop. She glanced at him in disbelief and that made him grin. "Got your attention didn't I?"

"I don't have a date," she snapped. "Not a date."

"Whatever," he shrugged. "You're not going to end up dating him, so got nothing to worry about."

Hazel shook her head, trying to hide her grimace. Smith was unbearable, especially when he tried to shamelessly flirt with her.

"Anyways, forgetting about the not date, I actually just came here to brag. I got this awesome assignment. It's top secret... for now, but it's important."

"Then what the hell are you telling me?" she gritted. She would be lying if she didn't feel a twinge of jealousy. And she hated that he knew, that being the only reason why he continued talking about his assignments.

"Because you're still going to find out. You always get my reports and look through them."

"Yes, after they're no longer considered confidential to just you. Which means it's useless, just like you."

"First, of all you're rude. I can file a complaint about that insult. And second, at least I get to do a mission. What do you get to do? Get coffee and make sure I do my papers," he said snidely.

If she wasn't already for violence in the work environment, she would have slammed his head to the moving floor and make sure his face got burned. Instead, she clenched her fists and picked up her pace. Smith doing the opposite, turned off the machine and angle his body towards her, his intention of exercising flying out the window.

"I am helping create a new initiative."

"Fantastic," she said sarcastically.

"Agent Hill picked me from the bunch," he gloated. She glanced at him unimpressed. He sighed and said, "Look, I'm not just here to brag. I'm also here to compromise. Think you might like it."

"About what?" she scoffed, laughing at the absurdity of it.

"It's no secret that you are desperate to get out of the desk and go back to the field," he said and in a lower voice, added, "I mean, didn't you get denied again?"

She scowled and stopped her treadmill. She huffed and turned to him, placing her hands on her hips. "What the hell do you want?"

"I mean, I'm the best agent there is here. If you wanted to, I could give a good word to Hill, to at least give you a chance to prove yourself. To actually have a chance to do something useful, other than sit in the desk and waste your eyesight. Yeah, I know you wear glasses."

"And what's into you?" she asked suspiciously.

"Well... I haven't had, you know, the sex for a while and you and I get along really well and maybe we can also have a few drinks—"

"Oh fuck off." He really was stupid. She doubted he had an important part of the initiation. Probably just to be there in case there was a backup. And everyone knew, that no one used the backup.

Smith shrugged, not fazed at her outburst and hopped off the treadmill. "Well, you continue killing that ass and I'll be over there by the weights, in case you want to go over there when you're done here and check my pecs flex."

The entire time he walked away, she glared at the back of his stupid black haired head.

"Not going to sleep with him," Hazel reminded herself, no matter how much she wanted to do something that didn't include correcting typos. She glanced at her phone and saw that she had an hour left before she was supposed to meet Julia in the bar. Slowing down, she took a few seconds to regain her legs and walked to the showers.

* * *

Hazel _loved_ bars.

They were like her second home, maybe more of a home than her actual apartment. She was proud to say that she was a high-functioning alcoholic... most of the time. About eight out of ten. On her good days. Which was four out of ten.

But Hazel still loved bars, nothing would change that. Whether she could or couldn't handle her drinks. When she moved to New York, it was actually the first thing she had gone to look for when she was walking the streets. They weren't like the ones from where she use to live but they made up from looks with the good alcohol.

Her favorite one was a small bar, near where she worked, that never cut people off, no matter how smashed they were. It was called Lucky's because everybody ended up getting lucky one way or another.

Unfortunately, that night for her, Hazel wasn't getting lucky.

Things started going downhill since she left the gym. After going to the shower, she could feel a pounding headache forming because of the lack of hydration. And when she took a shower and went to look for extra clothes she had planned on wearing when she went out with Julia, she had discovered she had forgotten to bring them.

That made her groan in frustration and maybe kick her locker but had tried to convince herself that it didn't matter. She was going to take them off in two or three hours, why waste clean clothes?

She still tried to smooth out the wrinkles for her shirt and skirt and when she went to meet up with Julia, who was irritated by her tardiness. They had promised met up in front of a coffee shop that they go at times after work and then go to the bar to meet the others.

"You're late," Julia snapped when she saw Hazel walking towards her.

"Right, I'm sorry. I got caught up in the gym and then—"

"I don't care. What the hell are you wearing?" Julia demanded, putting her hands on her hips, her brows furrowed into an angry look.

"Clothes," Hazel said meekly, knowing what she was going to get.

"Those are your work clothes! What the hell Hazel? I know you're not really into this but I thought you would have tried a little. For me at least. Or for the alcohol."

Hazel winced at her shrill tone. "I know, I know. I'm sorry. I forgot my clothes in my apartment and I didn't realize about ten minutes ago. I know I look kinda like crap but hey, at least I'm wearing a skirt. I really am sorry. I'm not trying to make you look bad. Seriously."

Julia pursed her lips, eyeing her. Reluctantly, she sighed and admitted, "You don't look bad which works in your favor. I could always say that you are a workaholic, which I suppose you are."

"See? Everything is fine." Hazel smiled at her and linked her arm with Julia's and started steering her towards the bar. "Besides, I don't think he's really going to care what I'm wearing as long as we get a buzz."

Things in the bar didn't improve.

Hazel couldn't pinpoint what it was, whether the obnoxious music that they were playing or the humid feeling that made her clothes stick to her skin or her boring date that made her wish she was somewhere else.

Kyle Lucas, her not date was attractive enough—brown eyes, tall, and well-built figure—but that was about it. He had the desperate-to-get-laid vibe which annoyed her and his attempts of conversation were futile.

He talked about his boring job and all the sight seeing that Tara had taken him to. Hazel had tried to keep in the beginning but quickly lost interest when he went into slightly descriptive detail at a fight that he saw in the subway. She saw those almost every morning, not finding them as amusing as she did five years ago.

Hazel felt Julia nudge her for the tenth time and for another tenth time, she ignored her, going for another round. It looked like she was going to be sleeping alone that night, and from she had been offered, it wasn't a huge disappointment.

"So..." Kyle said, trying to start another conversation between them. "Want more tequila?"

"Sure. Tequila makes me drowsy and I want to sleep tonight," she said, wanting to get drunker than she already was, and extended her shot glass. Kyle froze and begrudgingly poured her another shot.

Hazel could feel Julia's glare and again ignored her, just continued staring at Kyle and gave him a small smile, hoping to come off a nice. She took another sip from her glass and felt something vibrated in her purse. She sighed, ignored it for a second but the vibration kept bothering her. She should have ignored it, but in her invertebrate state that clouded her judgment, she decided it was a good idea to answer. Not to mention, she was desperate to get out of the dull conversation with Kyle

Shifting in her seat, she fumbled with her purse and pulled out the phone. She squinted trying to see who was calling but it proved to be a hard task. It wasn't an unknown number but in her intoxicated mind, it made no sense. Her finger hovered over the green button to accept the call but before she could, she felt someone a hand on her shoulder. She flinched at the unexpected contact and glanced at her.

"Haze? What's wrong?" In her usual motherly nature, Tara looked at her in concern. If Hazel would ever have children, she would have Tare be their pediatric. Even Hazel wished she would attend her instead of her regular physician. "You don't feel well?"

"No, I'm fine. Don't worry your smart little head, Tara. I'm sorry but I have to take this," she excused herself and stood up from their table. "It's, ugh, unfortunately important."

"Don't leave," Julia warned, she wagged her finger at her menacingly. Hazel scoffed, finding it somehow amusing that the way Julia was glaring at her reminded Hazel of her mother. It was almost more sad than amusing, but Hazel had a twisted sense of humor. "I mean it, Hazel."

"It's just a call from work. I'll be back," she promised and started walking to a more secluded area.

"Hazel."

She waved her off and turned their back to them, stumbling slightly, showing how drunk she was. She swore that she was only slightly buzzed.

"I thought you said she was fun," Kyle muttered to his cousin, from behind her.

"Oh, I am but you're not," Hazel said, covering the phone and looking over her shoulder, giving him a smile. He looked grumpy and took a long drink from his bottle. Hazel then answered the phone, her voice coming out slightly slurred.

 _"I apologize for calling at this time of hour but this is an important matter."_

Hazel drunk mind slowly processed what the voice said. It sounded eerily familiar but she wasn't sure.

"What?" she said stupidly.

 _"Ms. Summers I need you to report to my office at seven o'clock."_

Hazel pulled the phone from her ear and glanced at it in bewilderment. When she pulled the phone back to her ear, she could hear the person on the other end calling her again.

 _"Ms. Summers, are you there?"_

"I'm sorry, who's this?" she slurred and tried to bite back a burp.

 _"This is Agent Coulson, Agent Summers,"_ the voice said patiently.

Hazel had gotten in a state of panic that she had completely missed the fact that Coulson had addressed her as an Agent—something that hadn't happened in a really long time. She immediately pushed herself off the wall and felt like she had been forced to take a cold shower.

"Shit, fuck, shit," she hissed and then stopped cursing when she realized that Coulson was still on the other end of the line. "Sorry, sorry. I was a—never mind, sorry. I'll stop cussing."

 _"Is this a bad time? If you're—"_

"No, no," she yelped and cleared her throat. "I'm fine. What is that you need... um, uh, sir?"

Coulson hummed in disbelief and proceeded to speak in his usual professional manner. _"I need you to report to my office tomorrow in the morning."_

"Uh—why?" she asked, tugging on her hair nervously, feeling a pit grow at the bottom of her stomach. She wasn't sure if it was the mystery of the conversation or her tolerance for that day was very low. "Is there something that I did wrong?"

He paused for a long time that made Hazel check that she didn't accidentally hang up in her intoxicated state. She was relief that she could still see the end call button.

"Agent Coulson?" she asked hesitantly.

 _"You're not in trouble. Just to report to S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters at seven sharp."_

"Yeah, of course. Sure. I'll be there at seven," she said and cringed at how intoxicated she must sound. Agent Coulson either didn't notice or seemed to not care, as long as she got the message.

 _"We'll speak about it tomorrow,"_ he responded sharply. _"I expect you to be in your top shape tomorrow. Have a good evening."_

Without waiting for her reply, he hung up. She blinked slowly, and pulled the phone from her ear, looking at its uncertainty, still in a confused haze. Hazel tried to put her phone in her pocket when she realized she didn't have any because she was wearing a skirt. That was a clear sign that she was more than buzzed.

"Oh crap," Hazel groaned, feeling her body sway a little and clumsily went to the wall next to her, to rested her head. Again she tried to bite back a burp and failed. She covered her mouth and ran to the closest thing that she could throw up in.

From the background, she could hear someone calling her name, not sounding happy to see her hugging a trash can and flashing half the bar her blue underwear.

Today was definitely not her day.


	4. Slowly Moving Forward

**I just realized that this update falls on Fourth of July, also known as Steve Rogers birthday, so what a great day to update.** **This was a long, long break (like almost a year long break) that I did not mean to take, but _hopefully_ , I am back and can update more. Emphasis on hopefully. **

**I'm nervous about this chapter because I'm finally introducing a character (you can all probably guess who) and I want to know how I did with them. I would really appreciate it, thanks.**

 **Also, if there are any errors, I will go back and fix them.**

* * *

 **Chapter Three: Slowly Moving Forward**

* * *

Hazel was slowly gaining consciousness and tried to desperately to go back to her comforting dreams. She stirred in her spot, trying to settle herself, but she couldn't. Something was off and, reluctantly, she opened her eyes. The events of the last few hours came back to hit her like a train.

After Julia had found her throwing up, she had insisted that Hazel be cut off from alcohol and just drink water to sober up. Hazel didn't put up a fight and just sat down in her seat and actually listened to Kyle talk about his job. By the end of the night, she found herself not disliking Kyle as she initially thought.

Which is probably how she found herself going for a walk with him at the end of the night. Their destination had been his hotel room and then his bed.

She groaned and buried her face into the unfamiliar pillow. Even after an eventful night, Hazel still felt restless. Maybe it was because she was in an unfamiliar bed or she was nursing a horrible hangover for all the tequila shots that she had that night. Whatever it was, Hazel felt terrible and got out of the bed as silently as she could. She scanned the room and was relieved that most of her clothes were discarded in one place.

Hazel slipped into her bra and underwear. She scanned the room for the rest of her clothes. She saw Kyle stir and picked up her clothes quickly. Hazel hoped that she would be able to leave before he woke up, but if he truly was Tara's cousin, he'd be a light sleeper.

She silently cursed herself for forgetting of bringing her cosmetic bag, or her quickie bag Julia had dubbed it. As much as the nickname annoyed her, it did fit the title. It was a small cosmetic bag she always brought whenever she went out. It contained a small hairbrush, deodorant, clean pair of underwear, toothbrush, perfume, and morning pill, all necessities that made her look presentable before she left her one-night stand apartment.

Hazel might be reckless in her love life, but never in her appearance. She still had an appearance to keep and she was not going to ruin it for one night of fun. That morning, it seemed that Hazel would have to tough it out. She had gotten caught up with completing her paperwork, she left her 'quickie bag' in her bathroom.

Hazel rubbed her eyes in frustration and went to the bathroom. Being familiar with morning routines with strangers, she knew that the first pit stop someone made was in the bathroom, and because she had spent the night in a hotel room, she had to get into action quickly.

Not wasting a second, she scanned the bathroom for anything useful. Hazel found a toothpaste and scented soap. She grabbed the soap and used it as a replacement as perfume, hoping the scent might mask the cheap beer and cigarettes. She used one of her fingers as a toothbrush. Looking at herself in the mirror, she grimaced. Her hair was a tangled mess and her face looked gaunt. Hazel hadn't found a hairbrush and had to settle with using her hands.

Multitasking, with one hand she brushed her teeth and the other she tried to make her hair look like she hadn't spent the night rolling around with a stranger. Hazel dropped her hands and washed them, surveying herself. She still looked terrible, but at least her breath didn't smell terrible and she could salvage her hair if she braided it quickly into a fishtail.

Hazel tilted her head when she thought she heard a creaking noise and started changing back into her clothes, trying to smooth out the wrinkles. Hazel didn't get a chance to fix her hair when, through the mirror, she saw the bathroom door slide open and Kyle squinted at her.

"Running away?"

"If I was I wouldn't have gone to the bathroom."

Kyle shrugged and stepped inside the bathroom. "Well, that's how it looks like," he grumbled, and motioned to the toilet and looked at her expectantly. "Can I...? I mean, I know we saw each other naked, but I don't think we're there yet."

"It's your bathroom," she pointed out.

"Are you going to be gone when I get out?" he asked, looking at her curiously. Hazel didn't answer him, instead, she paused to fix the order of the soaps before stepping out of the bathroom and slid the door shut. She winced at how fast she turned around, and made her way to the bed, sitting on the edge, slowly putting on her heels.

Hazel wasn't a person who typically regretted her choices, but she should have gone to her apartment last night. She would have woken up with a clean underwear, silky hair, headache free, and alone, just like how she liked it. Also, she would know where she was.

Hazel glanced around the room and tried to remember where she was. It was a hotel near the bar, that much she remembered, but last night, walking over here had felt like it was taking forever. She vaguely remembered how she got there but was going to have to hurry up in case she was wrong. She did not want to take to long to get to S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters.

"You're still here," Kyle said, sounding surprised, and walked back to the bed, throwing himself back into the covers. He groaned.

"Surprised?" she said, not bothering to look at him.

"I thought you were hurrying up so you don't get caught doing the walk of shame?"

"No. I'm hurrying up because I don't want to do the walk of 'I don't want to get fired for coming late to a meeting for my job.'"

"Ah, yeah. Tara did tell me you were a workaholic," Kyle said, slowly sitting up, and groaned again, rubbing his forehead. "I can see it now."

She rolled her eyes, not bothering to argue with him. She didn't have to explain to him why she was hurrying to go to her job. Not everyone could take a vacation whenever they wanted.

"Don't you have a raging hangover?" he questioned. "You drank an entire bottle yesterday."

"That was Tara," was all she said and stood up from the bed, going to the window, drawing the curtains open. She smirked when she saw him wince and shielded himself from the glaring light. "But it seems that you are suffering a terrible hangover when I saw that you barely drank three beers. You're so weak."

"My job doesn't allow me to get drunk a lot," he grumbled.

Hazel shrugged, not really caring his life story and stood up, going to the mirror near the door, to make her hair into a simple braid. Her fingers worked effortlessly, turning her hair into a simple loose braid to the side.

"You know," he started casually and she paused momentarily, not liking his casual tone. "I'm going to be here for two more weeks. Maybe we can do this again sometime."

She pressed her lips into a thin line, trying to find the nicest way to reject her friend's girlfriend cousin. "I wouldn't get too hopeful, apparently I am a workaholic. I don't just get drunk."

"But you can do both, I see how you multitask and not anybody can do that."

"Flattery will get you nowhere."

"But I hear that alcohol will."

"Don't think I'm easy," she warned him and turned around. "I'm very picky for alcohol."

He hummed, not believing her. She looked around the room, seeing if she missed something. When nothing important popped out, she snatched her bag from the couch and started heading towards the door.

"Bye. I'll call you," he called out. Hazel waved the middle finger over her shoulder, slamming the door behind her. There was no way she was going to see him again. Once was more than enough.

Hazel was glad that she remembered where the elevator was or else she surely would have gotten lost in the expansive hotel. Inside the elevator, she rested her head against to cool wall. She was thankful to be alone, giving her a second to herself. Once she would step out of the elevator, she would be thrown into chaos and disorganization, and she wanted to take in the small moment of peace.

Sometimes, Hazel really missed her old life. Back when everything made sense, she knew what she was supposed to do and didn't have to rely on the schedule that was written for her. Now, she has no idea what's expected of her and tried her best to ignore the fluttering sensation in her stomach when she stepped out of the elevator and walked to her destination.

* * *

Sitting in front of Agent Coulson, Hazel dug her nails into the side of the chair, trying to keep herself from playing with them. She silently watched as Coulson pull out a file and set it on the table.

"Now, after careful consideration, we've decided to change you from positions."

Whatever Hazel expected to hear, that was not it. She had honestly had no idea what to expect in the meeting. She had expected to get yelled at again for coming to work reeking of alcohol. But instead, she was being reassigned positions. She had to let Coulson's word sink in before realizing what he was trying to tell her.

"I'm confused," she blurted out. "I'm not in trouble?"

"No, Summers."

"Oh, that's great," she said, mostly to herself and sighed in relief. "So I'm back in the field? That's fucking awesome." She grinned at Coulson and stopped when realized what she said. "Shit, I said fuck, didn't I? Fuck—I mean fudge. Shit."

She gave him a guilty smile and tried not to play with her hands. It took all her self-control to not keep speaking. Coulson merely raised his eyebrow and shook his head.

"No, Summers, you're not back in the field."

It was almost comical how fast her excitement got replaced with disappointment and failure. "Aw," she said and frowned. "Damn, I really got excited for that brief second."

"Don't worry, Summers, it's not desk work but it's not field work. You should thank Dr. Monroe. It was all her idea," he said sourly.

"What did she do?"

"You're getting a new partner," he informed her.

Hazel tensed up immediately. "A new partner?"

Coulson actually smiled at her. A genuine smile which really threw her off. "I think you're really going to like him."

"Him? Wow, that's so... cool," Hazel said unenthusiastically, fiddling with the edges of her skirt. She did not want another male partner. One was enough. "So I can't have a say if I want to have a her instead of a him?" she asked casually.

Coulson still smiled at her. "I'm sorry, Summers, but everything's been filed and processed."

"I thought—didn't Dr. Monroe tell you about, um, everything?" she asked hesitantly.

"She did and she said it would be a great idea to move on."

"Of course she would say something like that," Hazel muttered, not being able to hide her disdain. As much as she appreciated Dr. Monroe, Hazel hated how she pushed her into uncomfortable positions. She could still remember the time she was helping her cope with her OCD. A chill ran through her spine, making her shift in her seat.

"Is there a problem, Summers?"

She scratched the back of her head, slowly processing everything. Hazel was confused at the turn of the meeting but nodded. "Alright, I get it. Not really. But I will. So, who's the lucky guy?"

"Steve Rogers," Coulson said, doing his best to hide his excitement which made Hazel tilt her head in confusion.

"Steve Rogers," she mumbled, the name sounding eerily familiar. Where had she heard the name...? Her mouth opened slightly in realization. "Isn't Steve Rogers like Captain America."

"Yes. Captain America is your new partner," affirmed Coulson.

It was slowly dawning to Hazel that she was screwed. "My new partner is Captain America. The Captain America," Hazel said, more to herself than Coulson.

Hazel tried to recall what she knew about Captain America or Steve Rogers, and after racking her brain, she realized it wasn't a lot. The little she did know, Hazel knew she shouldn't be relying on it too much. Growing up in a small village in Germany, they were biased about the captain. They would argue that while he did stop the Nazi's, he never considered the innocent citizens from Germany, attacking carelessly and killing them in the process. He shouldn't be seen as a martyr but as a regular American soldier that wrecked havoc.

It wasn't the same with every city in Germany, Hazel realized when she would travel around the country as an undercover agent. Some of them wouldn't acknowledge the existence of him, while others subtly would praise his heroic acts. But it wasn't until she moved to New York City that she understood why Captain America was still remembered. He had been a regular person who wanted fight for his country. He sounded similar to someone she knew and for that, she respected him.

"What makes me qualified over all other Agents to work with this national icon?" she asked, slightly suspicious.

"Many things. You've worked for S.H.I.E.L.D. for over six years, you have extensive knowledge in a military background, specifically from Germany, are fluent in three languages, have masters in behavioral psychology and I hear that you're going for your Ph.D."

"Yes, I am," she agreed slowly. There was no doubt Hazel was qualified. Her entire life she had been trained to be as close as the perfect soldier. She might have lost five years on the field, but she still had the determination and discipline from all those years ago. Looking down at the same clothes from yesterday, she winced. She might need to work on her discipline. "But if I knew that would have gotten me back in the field, I would not have wasted all those years. It has to be more than that, am I right?"

"You also had a very strong recommendation from your therapist and from myself." Coulson gave her a half a smile, and she felt strangely happy that he was one of the people who pushed her to be back in the field.

 _Are you shitting me? You recommended me?_ she thought skeptically, and she must have done a poor job to hide her because Coulson frowned.

"Summers, I know that this is a huge transition, but if you want, you can speak to me freely."

Hazel would really love to do that. To tell him that if S.H.I.E.L.D. was out of the fucking mind. And that as much as she had been begging for the last years to be reinstated, for it to happen so soon was insane.

"Was I the first option?" she asked, it wasn't what she really wanted to know, but that thought had been nagging her since she found out she was assigned to a new partner.

"Steve already had someone who was similar to a partner," Coulson said, carefully choosing his words. "But he expressed that they are not working out. He wished he found someone who he could come to understanding."

"And obviously, the first person you thought of was me? I really don't know what to say about that."

"Don't think of yourself short, Summers. You were an impressive agent, and still are."

"Thanks," she said, feeling the old pride of her past achievements. "Would you tell me who was the person that was helping Mr. Rogers?"

"I shouldn't say. It's classified."

"What are we going to do?" she asked.

"Simple things. You're not quite ready for the field, and neither is Mr. Rogers. But both of you are persistent in getting out there and doing something. And again, lucky you two, your therapist encouraged Director Fury to do something."

Something wasn't right, Hazel couldn't help and wonder what was missing. Every seemed.. too easy. "Is that it?"

"Director Fury wants to also keep him busy, he's an important asset and needs to be kept in check."

Hazel stared at the file that held all the information of her new partner, Steve Rogers.

"Does my partner know?" Hazel asked casually.

"He should," Coulson said and checked his watch. "He's meeting with Director Fury right now."

Hazel tried not to be offended. That Steve guy got the director while she just was with her supervisor? She could see that there was going to be double standards between them and that was not going to work well with her.

"Just them?" she asked.

"And Dr. Monroe."

Hazel exhaled loudly and pursed her lips. "Is that it?" she asked. "Can I be excused?"

"Of course. I understand that this is a lot of information, and you're going to need to have a few moments to think. I'm glad that you're going back to the field. But before you go, do you have any questions?"

"No, no, no, I'm fine," she said, shaking her head. "I understand what you just said to me. I have a partner, his name is Steve Rogers, and I am no longer in a desk duty. This is simple enough. I just need to review his file, and I am good to go."

"You, Agent Summers, must understand that this is a very rare opportunity and that you should consider yourself lucky."'

"I guess I should consider myself lucky," she said, and stood up and shook Coulson's hand firmly, trying to leave the office quickly as possible.

"Adler, don't forget your file," Coulson called back, forcing her to stop at the door and turned around reluctantly. She went back and snatched the files.

"Fuck this," she grumbled when she outside of Coulson's office. Instead of going to her office, Hazel took a detour and went outside the building. Hazel ignored her surroundings and found herself walking out of S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, stepping out into the rushed streets of New York. She bumped into a few people and mumbled an apology.

Hazel leaned against a wall from the building. She should be going back to work but didn't bother. They weren't going to fire her. The worse that could happen would be another month of therapy or more hours of filing or just another warning. She focused on controlling her breathing. She should be excited by the opportunity that presented itself but in reality, she was having a hard time not losing the small control she had.

She fiddled with the file that was perched in her lap. She watched people rush by, silently debating whether to go back inside and start her daily ritual or to get the day off and deal with her hangover.

She looked up to her left and almost relaxed when she spotted a liquor store on the street across from her. Getting promoted would be a good enough reason for her to drink, even when she had a hangover. But something was stopping her from making that terrible choice. Maybe it was the new sense of reason.

She had to cut off alcohol, she realized, sighing. She needed to focus and alcohol tended to do the opposite. Although, it did make her feel great which was very important. But Hazel had enough common sense to know that working with a hangover out in the field would just get her back on the desk. Hazel had been given a second chance she been fighting for the past five years.

Last day of freedom, she thought and decided to not give a damn that day. Pushing herself away from the wall and making sure she looked presentable, she marched to the store, prepared to buy herself something to make her feel calm or at least distract her. But in the middle of the street, she stopped.

"Dammit," she muttered and kicked the ground in frustration, and reluctantly turned around, walking slowly. She wasn't sure where she was going but anywhere was better than her cramped office.

* * *

The now familiar building loomed over Steve Rogers. When he first saw it, he didn't know what to think of it. It was like any other building of the city, but something about it was stood out. He still was unsure if he should get in or wait for Dr. Monroe to show up and both go inside. He stood out outside, letting people passed him, grunting in annoyance when y bumped into him, the and continued on.

"Watch it," someone snapped and not bothering to stop.

"Sorry," he would apologize and after getting another dirty look from a man in a suit, he decided to move. Not having a choice, he got inside the building and sat down in one of the sofas in the lobby that faced the street.

Steve had requested for Dr. Monroe to be there with him in his meeting with S.H.I.E.L.D.'s director. It would assure Steve to have someone that he was familiar with him. Not that he didn't know the director but he couldn't bring himself to be comfortable with him. Dr. Monroe was the only person that he felt at ease with which was saying something.

He watched people walk by quickly, still fascinated with his new world. Steve had expected many things for this century, remembering all the books the talking about flying cars, clean streets, and so many other things that awed him.

Yet, the future was nothing like he expected. He wasn't sure if it was better or worse. There wasn't flying cars, the streets were dirty, and technology was too complicated. This wasn't the future that he always imagined but then again, he never imagined to be part of it.

There were at times when he would get overwhelmed, he wished that he was still frozen. Not having to worry about how many times can he try his password before it gets locked or how many buttons does he has to press to make the television turn on.

The future was too complicated. And the irony, people found it much easier.

He glanced at his simple phone and saw that he had five more minutes left before the meeting. He considered calling Dr. Monroe but then remembered he only had her office phone and knew that she wouldn't be there. His hovered over the number, still tempted to call but decided not to.

Steve never really called anyone. He had about four phone numbers, and two of them were from places that delivered food to homes. He exhaled, slowly counting inside his head until he reached one hundred, something he had learned from his therapist. Hopefully, by the time, he finished, Dr. Monroe would appear.

"Steve, good morning," a familiar voice said over his shoulder. Steve turned around and was relieved to see his therapist. He stood up and smiled politely. "I'm sorry for changing the time and then for keeping you waiting, there was an updated that I wasn't aware of."

"It's not a problem, Dr. Monroe. And good morning, how are you?"

"Cold," she answered crisply and checked her watch. "Shall we get going?"

"Of course, after you," he said and followed Dr. Monroe. They went inside an elevator that was occupied with two other people. The entire time, they gawked at Steve and he tried to ignore them, focusing on the changing numbers. Reaching the sixth floor, they exit and continued walking until Dr. Monroe. Steve's eyes wandered around the place, trying to keep up with the turns that Dr. Monroe had no problem with.

"Where's Director Fury?" Steve asked when they took a seat. The director's office was empty when they entered.

"Late," Dr. Monroe said shortly and pulled out her phone, tapping it furiously.

Steve drummed his fingers against his leg, waiting impatiently for the meeting to start. He glanced at his therapist, her attention on the small device in her hand.

He was glad that he was here. When he was told by Dr. Monroe on his last session that the director of S.H.I.E.L.D. wanted to meet with him and discuss something important, Steve wasn't enthusiastic about it. But when Dr. Monroe hinted that the meeting could be about him finally doing something. Although he hadn't been hinted of what they would be discussing in the meeting, Steve had his suspicions.

It wasn't made clear what he would happen but from the tense way that Dr. Monroe was at the whole meeting, told him it could be something important. He didn't care what it was, he needed to do something.

After a being released from the hospital, he had nothing much to do. He discovered a gym there. That kept him busy for a few hours a day. And once a week, he had his weekly sessions with Dr. Monroe. And after that, he had nothing else but adjust to the world he never thought he'd be part of.

"Steve..."

He looked up and saw Dr. Monroe give him a pointed look. He turned his head and cleared his throat when he realized that Director Fury had appeared.

"Sir," he said, standing up and extending his hand. Fury shook it and motioned him to sit down.

"Hope we didn't interrupt anything important."

"I assure you, sir, you didn't interrupt anything," Steve said, smiling grimly.

"Good because after a month of pestering, it seems that we found something that you can do and you won't have any free time."

Steve perked up, and Fury threw a file on the desk. He glanced and saw the picture of a young woman.

"Pretty, isn't she?" Fury asked.

Steve looked at him wryly. "Are you trying to set me up on a date, sir?"

Steve swore he thought he heard his severe therapist snort. Fury almost smirked and shared a look with Monroe, making Steve instantly suspicious. He already had been when he found out about having a meeting with the director. Every time he saw the director, it never ended well for Steve.

"Who is she?" Steve asked, unable to tear his gaze from the photograph. He didn't know what to think about her. She looked young, maybe one or two years younger than him. That thought confused him. Of course, she was younger than him. He beat her about sixty years in the paper but in pictures, she could be his age.

"This Mr. Rogers..." Fury taps the picture of the woman. "...is your new partner."

Steve furrowed his brows and leaned in to take another good look at the photograph. "I'm sorry, sir, but I'm here because I'm getting a new partner?"

Fury just looked at him, not elaborating.

 _Of course,_ Steve thought tiredly. He shouldn't be surprised anymore. Steve had been assigned to so many people. Doctors, therapists, counselors, and now a partner. He will admit he was looking forward to a partner, but when he found out it would be a woman, he was caught off guard.

"Unbelievable," he said under his breath.

"Did you say something, Steve?" Monroe finally spoke up. He looked up from the picture and saw Dr. Monroe looking at him carefully. He shook his head and she answered his earlier question.

"Her name is Nadia Adler but she goes by Hazel Summers," Monroe answered. "She's a former field agent. For the past five years, she's worked on a desk but she's been reinstated, isn't she, Director?"

"Yes," Fury answered, throwing her an aggravated look, " _but_ not yet. We still have to deal with her issues."

"We're dealing with them," Monroe said tersely. Steve looked at her in surprise. He paused, having many questions and decided to go with the first one.

"What issues?"

"Why don't we show him?" suggested Fury and picked up a remote control that laid on her desk. He pointed it a flat screen that was to the right, and the screen turned on. Steve looked at it curiously.

"We talked about this," Monroe snapped, but Fury ignored her, and pressed play on the control, making the video on the screen start.

The video was in color, something that still awed Steve when he would see a screen. It looked like it was an office and there were people in their desks. Steve immediately picked up the woman, her red hair making her stand out. She was sitting down at a desk when someone approached her, it seemed that person was saying something and she didn't look happy. She stood up and stormed off. She was gone for a long time, that made Steve wondered if the video was over.

"Is it...?"

"Just, wait," Monroe whispered and the corner of her lips twitch. "I made her watch that video and you know what she said."

Steve couldn't imagine what she said.

"'I regret not checking if there were cameras.'"

Steve exhaled and nodded to himself, even if he never met her, he wasn't surprised that she said that. The woman came back and she threw stacks of paper in the man's face. He didn't seem angry, more amused which seemed to fuel her anger more. He must have said something to her because, in that moment, she punched him in the nose.

"Oh..." Steve said.

The screen so clear, he could see blood dripping down to his shoes. She didn't stop and grabbed something metal from her desk and hit the man with it. She did it over and over again until the woman from the desk across Hazel's stood and said something to her. That made her stop and she glanced at the camera. Steve could see the realization and groan. She glanced at the floor and stepped over and got out of the frame.

"Wow, that was..." Steve trailed off and tried to not smile. That girl was really something. He glanced at his therapist and saw that she was trying to do the same thing. Catching his eye, her expression became somber and sat up straighter. "What happened?"

"Unfortunately, that's confidential and so was the video," Monroe and looked at Fury pointedly.

"Rogers should have an insight of his partner. As you can see, she has issues."

"Adler had dealt with her anger issues," Monroe assured tersely.

Steve frowned, having so many questions. "Why does she have a different name?"

"Her cover was blown and we needed to protect her. She's an asset that knows a lot. We can't afford to lose her."

Steve frowned, not liking how she was being referred as. _Asset_. He'd grown familiar with that word. He wondered how they talked about him. He knew he was important, it was made obvious when he wasn't allowed to leave his room when he was in the hospital without anybody.

"So you've kept her in a desk because she's an asset?" Steve said slowly.

"It's more complicated than that," Monroe said carefully. "It's confidential information but maybe one day you'll find out."

Steve wasn't sure if she meant Hazel would tell him or he would find out by someone else.

"Adler was very good at what she did," Monroe explained. "She worked as a double agent, mostly finding fugitives that had run off to Europe."

"What happened?"

Fury was the one who decided to explain. "About six years ago, in Germany over the course of a year, a significant amount of people had gone missing. It started raising eyebrows, especially since those disappearances would lead to slaughters. It was when we found that the facility was run by HYDRA, we immediately sent agents from there to infiltrate and shut down whatever they had going on.

"Adler was one of the agents and after a year, we discovered that it was more than taking people. There were facilities all over the country, experimenting on people. Around the time we made that discovery, we lost contact with all the agents that infiltrated. They were ordered to cut all communication if they were close to being compromised, so we assumed that's what happened."

"She got caught didn't she?" Steve guessed. Hazel's entire mission reminded him of his trip to Azzano to rescue the Bucky and the rest of the soldiers in his unit.

"After months of no communication, S.H.I.E.L.D. sent Agents from here to go over there and shut it down. Two were shut down when they moved to the third one. There, they found two agents, Adler, and another agent. They were in terrible conditions; drugged, tortured, starved. Immediately, they were taken to a hospital. The other agent died when they were taken to the hospital. Adler was in critical condition, had to stay in the hospital for seven months.

"When she woke up, she was confused and aggressive. She doesn't talk at all what happened. She didn't remember a lot of it, mostly she was heavily drugged. But Hydra doesn't keep people for no reason. At first, we suspected they experimented on her but nothing unusual appeared in her test results which lead us to the conclusion..."

"That she discovered something big," Steve guessed. "Something that kept her alive. And it was important enough that killing her wouldn't be good for them."

"Good to know that we're on the same page," Furry said wryly.

"I don't think we are, sir," Steve disagreed. "Why can't you get her to talk? She works for you, doesn't she, sir?"

"If only it were that simple," muttered Dr. Monroe besides him. "Adler doesn't trust S.H.I.E.L.D.," Dr. Monroe added, "and we can see why. We've done certain things that made her wary."

"Alright, is that it? Gain her trust her and betray her? I think I'll pass, sir."

"No, Steve," Dr. Monroe said sharply, startling Steve. "Director Fury is saying it wrong. You will not betray her. She will your partner for the right reasons, not the wrong one."

Steve still wasn't convinced. "What else are we going to do? You said that I can't be on the field and you also said that she can't be on the field yet. So what I want to know is that if we're not going to be in the field, what are we doing?"

Fury shared a look with Monroe and sighed, rubbing his forehead in frustration.

"We want you to get information out of her," he said bluntly.

"That's what you want from me? I'm going to spy on you?" Steve asked in disbelief. "I'm not a spy."

"No. Not just that," Monroe said shortly. She didn't look pleased with Fury. "It's part of what we hope you get. There are some files that were rediscovered from the forties and we want you and Adler to look them over. Most of them are in German."

Steve frowned. He and his partner were just going to be filing. He shouldn't be surprised at the mundane work he was going to be given, but he wasn't happy that they were giving him simple assignments.

 _It's better than what you use to do,_ a voice reminded him. He cringed at the reminder when he used to be paraded, promoting about helping the country. He promised himself that he would never go back to that person, but he wasn't really. He was going to be doing something.

 _Anything's better than that,_ he thought grimly. He never wanted to go back to being a poster boy.

"Alright," Steve reluctantly agreed. "When do I meet my new partner, Hazel?"

"Next week," Dr. Monroe said. "You'll get more information the next few days."

Steve nodded thoughtfully, his fingers running through Hazel's file.

"Now that we've discussed everything, you're dismissed, Rogers," ordered Fury, waving him away. "Don't forget to take the file."

Steve nodded and got up, picking up the file. Dr. Monroe stayed in her seat and he reluctantly walked out of the room. He had a hard time finding himself out of the building, but once he found the staircase, he headed straight out of the building. Steve didn't stop walking until he found himself outside and sat down on a bench.

Steve didn't know what to do. He should have seen it coming. Of course, he was going to be assigned a new partner. A part of him was glad that this time it was an official one, not a temporary one like Aaron Smith.

Dr. Monroe had mentioned that Smith was only a temporary partner and that if everything worked out, he would become his permanent partner. He felt terrible for complaining to Dr. Monroe about Smith, but he couldn't help it. The man had introduced Steve to S.H.I.E.L.D. and what they did, but he did poorly. It was obvious he was pleased with being chosen from the rest of his colleagues and was not afraid to tell anybody who was within earshot. Only a week had passed, and Steve knew that he couldn't stand being around him.

Steve hoped this new person, his official new partner, would be better. Something he couldn't admit to Dr. Monroe is that he really hoped that he could make a friend. He was lonely, that was the most obvious and just wanted to have the normalcy of bantering with someone that understood him on a personal level. He hoped that Adler would be able to give him that.

"Steve."

Like earlier in the morning, Steve looked up and smiled at his therapist.

"You seem overwhelmed," Monroe observed.

"No, Ma'am." He shook his head. "I'm just a little confused, nothing new, but I'll get there."

Monroe stared at him, saying nothing, which reminded him of their earlier sessions. He had been seeing her for about a month and when he started, he was estranged with the whole therapy thing. Back then, he hadn't heard the word therapy and now he was forced to talk about everything was wrong with his life. It was not something he was looking forward. But slowly, he'd been getting into it and opened up a little.

Steve checked his watch and saw that almost an hour had passed. It felt like they were in the director's office for a longer time. "I should go. Thank you, Dr. Monroe, for coming with me and actually doing something about my complaints." He stood up but Monroe stopped him.

"Steve, sit down," she ordered, pointing to the bench.

"Dr. Monroe—"

"Sit down, Steve," she said more forcefully and Steve had no other option but to sit back down on the bench. "I'm not going to talk to you as my patient or an Agent. I'm going to talk to you as Steve who's about to meet Hazel."

Steve nodded tersely. "Yeah, you knew about her, um, Hazel being my partner?"

"I was the one who suggested it," Monroe admitted. "Fury might be the director but he can't come up with things like these."

"You did all this? Why?"

"It's complicated, I might say but in the long run, it will make sense. It's the best for both of you."

"Both of us? So Hazel knows about it?"

"I think so," she said, frowning. "I wasn't there when she was being informed because I was here, with you."

"You chose me over her?"

"No, no. It wasn't that. She didn't ask me to be there and I'm thankful for that. Not because of her. I don't particularly get along with the Agent who was telling her."

Steve wondered if it was in the same building where Hazel had her meeting. He could have run into her, meet her and gotten to see how she would react to him without knowing who he was.

"I know," Monroe continued, "it has to be nervous to meet someone, a person that you have to trust yet you know nothing of. The file that you have means nothing compared to who she is. You can know that she was born and raised in Germany but can't know that her favorite thing about it was the town she grew up in and how much she misses it."

Steve tried not to focus on the small fact that Hazel was from Germany. "No I get, I know that nothing that read here is going to prepare me. But it is nice to have a head start, especially since she's prone to hitting people."

"She is," Monroe lamented. "But we're working on it."

"I can't tell you much because it's confidential but you can ask me one question about her and I'll answer it."

Steve didn't even have to think about it. "Why'd she do it?"

"I had a feeling you were going to ask about that," Monroe said and smiled at him. "You will found out that Hazel has a strong personality. She tends to react impulsively. According to her and the woman who appeared in the video, the man made a sexist comment towards her and she had enough of his harassment."

Steve tried not to smile but failed. "Well, good for her," he said. "He should have left her alone. Hazel did the right thing."

"Yeah, good for her but, of course, I couldn't tell her that. As her therapist, I have to make her find an organic way to express her emotions."

"Did she get in trouble for that?" he asked. "She seemed to realize that what she did was wrong."

"Mandatory gym time. Every day she goes to work for two hours. So both of you can work out together," Monroe suggested.

"That's a good idea. Something in common." Steve sighed and looked at Monroe, hesitantly. "Is there—?"

Monroe shook her head, guessing what he wanted to ask. "I'm sorry, Steve, but I can't say anymore. It won't be fair for Hazel. I don't want you to have an advantage that she doesn't."

Steve sighed in frustration. "Then what can you tell?"

"She's not like the woman that you're used to, but that doesn't mean she's from another dimension."

"Ma'am, everybody here is from another dimension," Steve laughed but got serious quickly. "I know you can't tell me anything about her, but is there anything that the file doesn't have?"

"You mean what she likes and dislikes?" Monroe guessed.

"Yeah, they're always about achievements and problems."

Dr. Monroe nodded, her lips pursed. "Both of you have been through a lot but even if you don't see it. Look, don't stress about it, Steve. It won't be good for both of you to be all wound up for something that simple. I'm not in therapist mode right now, but if I were, I would be saying that you and Hazel are using each other as a proxy to avoid the real stress. The real problem."

"Which is?"

"Like I said, I'm not in therapist mode," Monroe shrugged.

Steve gave her a faint smile, not wanting to disrespect one of the people who seem to really want to help him.

"I doubt it," she said and patted his shoulder, standing up. "Well, Steve, I'll see you in our next session, which is in two weeks."

Steve frowned. "Wait? I'm not going to see you until two weeks?"

She gave him an apologetic smile. "Don't worry, Steve. If you want to talk to anybody, you can call your new partner, Hazel."

Steve tried not to grimace, not thrilled to share about his hard time falling asleep and worries to a complete stranger. Dr. Monroe bid him goodbye and left him alone in the bench. He watched as people pass him; men, woman, children. They were so different, ages, gender, race but they were the same. They had a purpose that, knowing exactly where they were going.

Steve had wanted that and it looked like he was finally getting it. But was this really what he wanted?

Steve hadn't realized that had been scanning women that fit his new partner's description until he caught the eye of a woman and she scowled at him. He tried not to stare at the crowd, but couldn't. And as hundred of women passed by, none of them were her. It looked like he was going to have to wait until next week to meet her in person.

Nodding to himself, he grabbed his new partners file. He stared at it for a few more minutes before decided to go ahead and opening the file to read what was inside.

"Who is Hazel Adler?" he muttered and started reading the file of the woman he was supposed to trust his life with.


End file.
